Right, so Whitney (RIP) has been trying to answer this question for a long time. Where DO broken hearts go? Can they find their way home? ect ect. Moving away from 80s power ballads and into 2015, the inspiration for this post, and I realise it’s random, came from watching a young girl, who I would say was about 16/17, crying on the phone at a train station. She was on the phone to either her mum or a friend I would say, explaining how she’s had a bad day and he hasn’t responded to one text since they finished, not even to ask about her Grandad. She sounded pretty cut up and she looked it too.
If you were in love as a teenager, you’ve most probably been this girl (or boy, obviously). In fact, if you’ve loved and lost any age you’ve been this girl. Heaven knows I have.
I was trying not to listen but it was silent aside from her and she was pretty loud about it. I can even tell you they were together for two years, as she kept reiterating this point to person at the other end, who I’m guessing was trying to console and calm the mite down. There were a few comments like ‘but when though?’ and ‘I just can’t help it.’ Three minutes of listening to this girl explode with all of the emotions was enough to send me flying back to when I was 18.
Heartbreak is no walk in the park. I’ve been there once, and to be honest, it was so awful, I think I’ve mentally blocked bits of it. I would never disregard a teenager who claimed to be broken hearted because they’re too young, or too inexperienced and I know back then if anyone had said to me ‘but what do you know about love?’ I’d have probably punched them. Love is love, you can’t define it with time or age and when it goes wrong it can go catastrophically, horrendously wrong.
I would have liked to have given station girl a hug, and told her that I used to be her, and now 6 years on I am whole and healed and I love someone new. I would have told her that there comes a time, maybe just one day, that you wake up and you feel differently. You feel better. Without sounding like someone’s nan, I’d have told station girl (if she hadn’t ran away or alerted staff to me already) that time is a healer.
I didn’t talk to station girl. I did however, think about her and the version of me from 2008 for the rest of the day. I say version of me, because I think you are a different you when this happens. You aren’t quite right and rightly so. Hard bloody times aren’t they? Well I am no expert, and I can’t imagine I’d make much of agony aunt to anyone, but I can tell you where broken hearts go. They go nowhere. Those sharp, stabby, aching little things do curl up into a tiny ball of memory and stop hurting your brain, but they don’t just disappear. No one forgets a broken heart, and thank goodness for that.
At age 24 and a half I don’t think I’ve had all of the big life lessons yet, but having my heart broken is one piece of free education I’m damn glad I got. If you’ve been station girl, and you’ve endured the feeling that life will never be the same and you are alone in the world forever, you probably know that it was a lesson well learnt. I know where to draw a line and I know how to get a grip thanks my own. I will also happily be on the receiving end of a heartbroken chat with anyone needs one, because I needed them once. How people communicated things back then without the vast selection of emojis we have now, I’ll never know.
I imagine a broken heart to hangout in a tiny pocket in your brain, waiting for when you need a little reminder or something to draw on, before it momentarily jumps out and slaps you. It slaps you because it cares. It slaps you because your heart works best when it’s whole.