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Josephine Close, “Night Tide 17” There are a million ways to describe the aftermath of a broken heart. Half of them are too inadequate and the other half are too truthful. All of them are painful to read. Among friends, it’s probably best not to describe the wreckage. Instead, you just tell them your heart is broken. “I know,” they will say with a sad nod of the head. It means both “I know what it feels like” and “I know how you feel.” Then, they will treat you more gently for some time and nothing more will have to be said. While you get too skinny or too fat from eating too much or not eating often enough, while you sleep for fourteen hours a day, or not at all, or while you laugh or cry or express no feeling of any kind, your friends will still know why. And, in your heartbroken state, you might throw yourself into your work or do nothing productive for weeks and weeks. You may take up yoga, or jogging, or self-pity or full-blown depression. You might drink hard and smoke and have sex with strangers or swear off those things once and forever – your friends will still know why. You may also do nothing. You may show no sign of being anything other than normal. And then, even though you told your friends and they said “I know,” they may forget and stop treating you gently. You may get angry with them for forgetting even though you were the one who wanted everything to look normal. Being angry with your friends will make it easier to go on feeling lonely in that indulgent way you may have, or you may not have at all. You may stop going out to visit your friends and use your time to make plans for your entirely new life that will be so full and busy with marriage and houses and children that there will be no room for such forgetful people. No one will know anything about you anymore.