A 21st Century Prescription for Heartbreak

A 21st Century Prescription for Heartbreak
(Repeat as needed)


Find someone unsuitable
An artist preferably
Photographers are ok
A carpenter will do in a pinch but only
If he dreams of living in a log cabin,
Surrounded by handcrafted, three-legged chairs

But, musicians are best
Especially if they’ve quit their day jobs to tour around in a shitty beater of a van
Or if at least they’re still considering it
If they tell you they love you on the second date
And write a song “just for you”
That you find out later was penned for an ex

If you can’t find any kind of artist,
Not even a carpenter
An off-the-lander type will do
Look for long hair and a scruffy beard
Let him roll you up in dreams of homemade preserves
And apples picked from your own backyard
Escape from the city and believe in the power of a man with
An axe

Forget the business types
If you see a tie or, God forbid, a whole suit
Run
Unless it’s meant to be ironic of course
No matter how fabulous this man is
And he probably is fabulous in the take you out for extravagant dinners and
The theatre sort of way
He won’t be able to instill that particular brand of crazy in you

Speaking of the theatre, forget about actors
They’re not as effective as you might think
On the surface, they have the whole tortured artist thing going for them
But they’re usually unattractively femme
And violently self-centred
And they can never handle real emotions





Once you have him
HIM
Fall
In
Love

Breathe him in
Sleep in his shirts
Talk about the future
Kids named Elektra and Snapdragon
Life on the road, love on the road, togetherness in a van

Fuck ‘til it hurts
Have great sex and terrible sex
Laugh about both

If you have long hair, cut it short like a boy or a sheep
If you have a stylish bob, let it grow long and wild
Stop
Or start
Shaving your legs
Become vegetarian or reintroduce meat
Become an expert on cheap beer or esoteric Portuguese wine

Move in together way too soon
Tell your married friends they just don’t get it
And scoff about how boring they’ve become

Fuck some more
Miss a period
Have an abortion
Have a miscarriage
Or get the damn thing a few weeks later
Cry about it
Laugh about
Gain anywhere between five and fifteen pounds

S L O W L Y
You will notice he has stopped calling you beautiful
Stopped complimenting your laugh
Your smile
Stopped sharing his dreams
Stopped even bothering to tell you the details of his days

Watch his eyes follow other women down the street
Become
Irrationally
Jealous
Accuse him of cheating with
The cute deli girl
The cute barista
The underage groupie
Your mom
His sister

Nag him about
Everything
Realize you are being crazy but
Find yourself
Unable to
Stop

Think of ending it

Think of ending it

Find an old song
An old photo
An old jar of preserved
A smelly old sock

Remember how much you love
Him
Remember the first kiss
Your stomach dropping away
Losing your breath
Drowning in
Love

Vow to make things work
Make him
A pie
A cake
His favourite dinner

Decide to serve it naked

When he comes home, leap into his arms, burning with the passion of
Rekindling


Hear him say

I’ve met someone else

Or

I love you but I’m not in love with you

Or

This wasn’t the life I imagined for us

Or

When did you get so fat?

Agree, cry, throw the pie at him, play the martyr

Whatever
Just know, inside, your heart if breaking into a million
Billion
P


I

E
C


E
S




And you will never, ever, feel the same again



Until the next one