On the last of those days he dropped me off at the Sunoco station on Memorial Drive where I had left my bike that morning. It was over. There were chrysanthemums planted along one edge of the parking lot and every time I drove past those flowers that fall I would sob and wail in my car.
I was crying in public, too. Crying as I wrote in my journal at Dunkin’ Donuts, crying as I put the heavy napkins and silverware on the tables at the fancy restaurant, crying as I biked home across the river at midnight. But I marveled, too. I marveled at the feeling of being heartbroken.
Source: An Empty Heart Is One That Can Be Filled – The New York Times
Thank you, Katie.
