good girls & broken hearts — honey in a paper bag

I love nothing more than rules. A good girl in a bad world. Skin so soft, so smooth, fitting all clothes. I love nothing more than love, being in love, being someone’s love, being caught in the middle of love, love love love. I love floofy and pink teddy bears kind of love. Chocolate truffles and dinners under starry skies. Beach walks at daybreak in barefeet and salty hair. Homemade gifts and …. Alright, I’ll cut the crap. This is all bogus and you know it. But I’m a good girl, yes, and good girls play by the rules. They say what they’re supposed to but mostly they just don’t speak at all, a smile will do. A smile and a nod. So pretty. So cute. Adorable. What a good girl.

Good girls and broken hearts don’t mix. A good girl just doesn’t get her heart broken. She’s too pure for that. Yet if she does, she’s allowed to be sensitive but never a mess, always held together, even if it’s only by a thread. Always smiling and nodding. And god-forbid she ever talk about what is twisting in her heart. No, no, that is not a part of the rules for good girls. These rules are never something that need to be said aloud, but if they are, they are said with contempt and resentment for, how did you not know any better? If it wasn’t okay then it isn’t now. And don’t you want people to see you as a good girl.

That’s when I realized that I truly didn’t care if people saw me at all. Not that I’m a person who goes unnoticed, but why bother with petty things like other people’s opinions. I’m a human among humans, just like everyone else in this life. Just living. I decided a long long time ago that I would rather be understood than liked. That was when I stopped being a good girl. When conforming stopped mattering to me. Because I realized that the one person who sees me needs no explanations, rationalizations, or censorship. Nothing added or subtracted, just me-- definitely not a good girl, definitely not put together, and definitely heart-broken.

But I still see all you good girls in your tight yellow dresses and flouncy hats. You are beautiful, yes you are, but man, is it beautiful to live life brushing your teeth while walking to the beach. An entire audience to witness your oral hygiene. Man, is it beautiful to speak how you feel and what you think and not care if people disagree. Man, is it beautiful to have the most security in your own sense of self simply because the maker says so. Man, is it beautiful to live life under starry skies, no expectations, no plans, no rationale, all the questions and none of the answers, and to see everything that you want to see and everything you don’t. How beautiful.

I’m so sorry about your broken-heart. I’m so sorry for my own. I could go anywhere in the world and this same heart would go with me. Entirely full and completely ached. For not one simple reason but for many complicated ones. And maybe that’s why it’s so common, this ache, because it’s nothing but simple but the least bit complicated. And maybe that makes no sense, but that’s why it hurts. There is no why question you can ask that will provide an answer and there is no how question to replace it. A broken heart is a sign of the living, breathing, escalating, and devastating reality of humanity. It’s a sign that you are a true soul. One that has a heart created to feel the extremity and intensity of a deep love, and those who love the deepest then ache the greatest. That ache grows to be a constant companion, almost a friend, the only true sign that it was real. And, oh my, how real it was.... Love so great and so deep that even the ache cannot pull you far enough away that you step outside that love.