I’m going through something of a heart-wreck. A heart-wreck happens when you’re trying so hard to do the right thing, stay in the right lane when some pug comes from out of nowhere and puts their filthy tyre marks on your heart. Then there is a pang of pain, some Olivia-Pope-style demolishing of red wines and a big, fat reality check to follow. After that you’re back walking again, yearning for the time when you had the courage to drive, to cruise in the big-girls’ lane.
The worst part of a heart-wreck is the constant instant replay of your humiliation and pain in your own head. It’s as if the cable upstairs was paid with great pains and must therefore be milked for all its mileage- ergo instant replays at the puppet master’s pleasure. The only way out of an instant replay is the short sprint down memory lane to a time when you were stronger, better off and in control.
Being alone is not a big deal. I love my independence and am grateful to be self-sufficient enough to avoid mediocrity and still have an exciting life, albeit on my own. But there’s something about conquering a world full of possibilities together that always gets me. I can’t resist caving into the fantasy of two riders on two horses, melting into the amber horizon.
But here is the catch- the minute I can’t see the man I want to get to know better as the dad I dream for my little girls, I take for the hills. That’s when I make traffic blunders so silly that there’s no other way past me than to wreck my heart. My girls being the best part of my adventure, of course, get the biggest vote in who I chose for myself. And to put the entire statement into perspective, no I do not condone heart-wrecking.
I do however want to be happy. And make someone happy. And raise deliriously happy children. That’s all.


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