She’s a sunshine lady, always smiling and hoping that her little heart crack won’t split the difference and cause a racous outpouring of emotion onto her dinner plate whilst her husband glances at her disinterestedly and pauses before saying:
“Please pass the potatoes…” with a low-key voice and a throat-belch from satisfied depths.
Her throbbing arrhythmia is muffled by the sounds of chewing and the clack of stainless on stoneware.
She’s an iron-clad lass, always geared to warm weather and willing to give, give, give before taking nether a drop of dew from the friends and family who love her. She longs for the occasional rain or snow storm so hot streaking tears can stream down her face. She accepts this dew as she sips of fermented grape.
A car window is a lovely frame for the searing tears of the heart-broken-face she thinks as she ponders the future car-ride home. She takes great interest in the contortion that sadness, grief and longing plays upon her skin.
So, she waits as she has always done and the crack starts to split just a little bit more. Each day threatens a maelstrom – an atomic sized cardiovascular catastrophe threatens to displace her heart from her chest. Senor Defibrillator may have his work cut out for him when he pauses to electrify those broken heart bits. Heart break or heart quake? Another cliche for your ponderance.