So far, I've only had my heart broken three times. The first time was when my mother died; the second time was when I first discovered that a person whom I loved deeply loved someone else; and the third was today. You'd think that having survived the loss of both my parents and bankruptcy and finally having severed existing ties with blood relatives would make me more adept at losing. You'd think that the sting would gradually change into something more forgiving, less harsh. But today I was reminded that when you lose, it always brings with it a new hurt, so different from all the ones that came before that you'd make yourself believe that it's the first time something so integral has been snatched from you. But after going through the motions of a day that never really ends, you sit and stare out the window and say So that really happened. Jesus Christ.

Which brings to mind one of my favorite childhood memories. My father, who was a crybaby himself, never allowed us to give in to indulgent bouts of tears. He read somewhere that real sadness lasts for approximately 21 minutes. So he literally trained us to cry for a full 21 minutes and after the minutes were up, he'd pat us gently on our backs and would say That's that for now.

So imagine the concentration that I exerted in staring at our office clock for 21 minutes. And all I wanted was to keep from crying. And I did.

It has been roughly 9 hours and so-so minutes since I heard the news. Forgive me, but I still feel so out of sorts. Nobody died, not really. I just feel, I dunno. Disconnected, somewhat. Honestly, what devastates me most is the realization that I do have a very deep need to be appreciated and accepted. This need is something that I've almost always denied in the past. I mean, how many times have I crowed about my independence, my solitary interests, my private faiths? You must know this about me. Then comes this ruinous affair and I just don't know what's what, really.

But inspite of the disappointment and frustration, I am not kneeling. I will keep on, still and always, simply because I have to. Because I am in love with silence's more interesting twin, with the stops and starts between definitions, with the mystery and salvation in the words that exist to defy all these blank spaces.