When your heartstrings finally break, there will be no noise, no twang, no sigh of release. The sound will be felt, not heard. It will rend the last of what it means to be whole, reduce the noun to a broken plural – shards too sharp to pluck from the tiles.
When your heartstrings finally break, it won’t be from pressure, or stress, but from the corrosion of neglect. Locked away for so long, kept from sight and plucking hands, they will rust and rot away – fall to dust in the shadowed corners of decay.
When your heartstrings finally break, there will be no fixing what has been rent. The ends will not be drawn together, and the heart cannot be restrung. It is an instrument of personal measures and will never be reformed. To lose your song is to lose yourself. There will be no solace, no joy, no refuge from despair. With no barrier of song, the sorrow of the world will invade and take nest, breed in the rusted shadows and drown all magic.
When your heartstrings finally break, you will realize, too late, that the only way to keep an instrument strong is to play it. The only way to keep it in tune is to practice. The only way to make the strings gleam is to let every small wonder dance amongst the chords. The only way to keep it whole is to keep it singular and believe in the magic it creates.
When your heartstrings finally break, it will be too late for anything but goodbye.
Another friend died on Saturday – killed while driving home drunk on a bike. That makes three this year alone, violent, untimely, and self induced. One suicide, and two intentional accidents. Sad people, sad ends, broken hearts and broken dreams.