I like it because you can’t tell it’s broken. That idea that you can be happy despite having a broken heart infects me.
I know that he has it that way, he is missing one of those pieces that he will never find again. She will live without a part forever.
With a disarmed heart, that will never be armed again. But she doesn’t stop… she gets up, continues and you can’t tell she’s limping.
He continues, continues playing with those remaining pieces, knowing that he will never have the puzzle assembled on the table again.
She keeps walking with that emptiness embedded in her chest, she keeps playing with what she has left and saves the pain of the missing piece for another time.
She’s still on her feet, she’s not healed, she’s not going to heal, at least not as soon as she’d like, she knows. But she gets up with that strength that she knows what life is like.
She already understood everything, she knows that she lost the battle, “she knows it”, but she laughs, and sometimes she enjoys it; she spreads the idea that she can do it. That she, she’s still broken, she can if she wants to.
She lost just what she didn’t have to lose, of all the possible things she didn’t have to lose, and she lost it, and it hurts in her chest and throat. Strange.
She does not hold on to anything that distracts her from the truth of knowing that he is no longer here and that he is not coming back. But she goes on. Sometimes she stumbles, but she believes that stumbling looking at the sky is always better.
And he goes on, he doesn’t tremble… and then I like that smile on his face, it makes me think what can be done, I like to see that he continues with what he has, that he doesn’t look for replacements.
I like to look at it because it shows me evidence that is hard for me to assume. Yes, broken people can run their course, they can be happy despite everything.
She is happy, the smiles do not lie, neither does the look. She is happy, and she is a ball, she is not a mask, she is not brave, she is simply a broken girl who walks the same. Because she knows that in the end no one else will do it for her.
By Lorraine Pronsky