Enough?

I lie here on my bed, the tears splashing down across my face and onto the rough, woolly knitted blanket that serves as an impromptu pillow. My heart doesn’t know whether it’s broken or dead. Sometimes, it really feels dead – numbed by all the suffering it has no answer for.

Other times the agony is so strong that I know my heart is far from dead or it wouldn’t hurt SO. MUCH. I almost wish my heart were dead so it would just stop hurting. Except I know what deadness of heart feels like, a...