Modern heartbreak is “read at 9:13 p.m.” when it’s 9:40. it’s unliked photos, it’s blocking and unblocking and blocking and unblocking. modern heartbreak is sick with being watched, it’s breakups playing out on twitter feeds, it’s unfollowed unfollowed unfollowed. it’s a broken jaw, it’s screenshotted photos that shouldn’t have been saved, it’s screenshotted texts meant for one person only. it’s seeing your ex lover with their new one, watching their lives playing out like yours didn’t, it’s phones thrown into bedroom walls when their profile changes from single to in a relationship. it’s snapchat stories to make that one person jealous because it feels like without them you’re nothing, it’s that one story expiring before they see it because they don’t give a fuck about you now and you know it, it’s deleting their contact info but wanting it tattooed on the back of your hand in case you ever want to call, it’s messy it’s messy it’s messy it’s so fucking messy because everyone fucking sees it and it never goes away.

But it does get better.  At 19 I almost died for love.  At 30 I almost died for love. And again.  And again.  So many heartaches.  So much grieving.  And yet?

It gets better.  Even when it seems like it can’t possibly, not this time.

It gets better.

A older friend taught me an amazing lesson when I was still pretty young.  He’d had an accident.  Was in traction in the hospital.

I asked him how he was doing, and he said…

“Pretty good for someone who’s just broken his leg in three places.”

A few years later that saved my life.

It gets better.