I am her heart and this morning I’ve taken matters in my own hand, so to speak. After last night, all those tears, anguish, etc., I made a decision. Don’t tell me it’s not mine to make. Because I just can’t take anymore of that chocolate-coated-strawberry-cheesecake-love-then-break-up-pain. That’s right. Too much feast or famine. Not good for me, anyway. I’m not going down that path again. Not healthy. That sweet stuff, that giddy stupid stuff. Only leaves scars.
I am going on a diet. I can teach myself not to be hungry. It might take a few days to get used to it. But when I think I am hungry, I’ll just tell myself I’m not. Easy as that. No more sampling, no more “just one taste.” I don’t need anything more than what I/we have. We will survive quite nicely on what we already have. I have a 100% monopoly on me/her and I don’t have to share myself/her with anyone. Where did I get the idea that I need anything or anyone else?
I’ve watched hearts of other people who have gone on this diet. They don’t even miss it. They aren’t hungry anymore. They report that old scars finally heal. No more fattening ripping heartbreak for them. Over the years, these hearts have built protective layers which harden into shells, totally encasing them. Some weren’t even called hearts anymore; they had taken a more practical name, such as “bodily organ.”