Imagery is such a strong tool in language. The ability to take a few words and make someone feel is a powerful and underestimated skill. I wonder who the first person was to coin “a broken heart.” We say it without thinking of how captivating such a phrase can be. Because when you have a broken heart, it literally feels as though someone reached for the most vital of your organs and pulled it apart with a grip akin to Samson.
It’s sensory–“a broken heart”–because you feel it deep in your bones. Your body heaves as you try to catch your breath–muscles struggling to lift and relax your chest cavity. Then there is a release; you let go. You let go only after putting on a brave face, one you barely have the strength to fake, and you face those fears and the one who has broken you. Because a broken heart means more than just a punctured organ. That heart, now aching, flows life through you and when it breaks, so do you.
That release gives you purpose. You find some sort of supernatural way to loosely mend your heart back together and move forward–because you have to, or because of a revelation you really did find when you fought your way through the torment. Then there is strength. When the most important part of you has fallen apart and was miraculously put together again, how much stronger can you possibly get? You conquered Samson and your reward is tomorrow.