The Girl Who Overheard Too Much

As someone who is alone quite frequently, I have the sometimes pleasant, and more often awkward, opportunity to overhear conversations. Coffee shops are a particularly great place for this;  I sit typing or reading while couples and groups surround me, filling the space with words and stories and memories and plans.

Once during a particularly busy morning at a shop, a woman asked if she could share my table. I happily agreed, and as I sat typing, she sipped her tea and carried on a conversation via text message. I had a friend who once told me of a plan he had to take photos of peoples' faces as they received text messages. Have you ever watched someone's face as they read an unexpected text from a current crush? A message that their plans are cancelled? News of a friend's engagement? A reminder that an assignment is due tomorrow? There is so much packed into the facial reaction to that small, 140-character message. And this woman who sat across from me: her face told the story of the excitement to be meeting someone she loved, very shortly.

I've also overheard a breakup, which was loud, crude, and full of pain; I've overheard a 25 year-old man retelling the story of his grade 9 girlfriend cheating on him, still obviously able to recall the pain that it caused his 14 year-old self.

That got me thinking. Does real pain ever go away? Pain is important in shaping us, helping to define our character and helping us become stronger people, struggling through as it becomes easier and easier. I fully believe that. But I don't think we ever really forget how much someone hurts us. I don't think we can talk about it or see a person who shattered a part of our being without, for a moment, remembering how deeply they hurt us.

I think it's because pain of heartbreak is confusing. It's composed of all the good times you shared, all the things that made your relationship work, all the quirks that allowed room for love, all in combination with the anger and the hurt and resentment and the tears and everything else that left you broken. And I think that it's impossible to ever really forget that pain because it has become a part of you. It is your history. It has shaped you to be who you are.

And I think that's really beautiful.

Onto the song challenge:

Day 24 - A Song You Want Played At Your Funeral

I've honestly never given this any thought until right now, and I spent a bit of time pondering, and decided I still don't know, and that it's kind of morbid to think about. So, instead, here's one of the "great" songs of the 80s. Seriously, who doesn't love Boy George? It's not like he's George Michael.

Day 25 - A Song That Makes You Laugh

I seriously love Rhett and Link. They have a YouTube channel, which you can find by clicking here. They used to be engineers and quit to make videos full-time on YouTube, for which I am very grateful. If you click here, I'll link you to the funniest video on YouTube; or, at least, I've watched it countless times and still laugh out loud. Every. Time.

Anyway, here's one of their songs that I think is brilliant: "In the 80's"



Anonymous said…
I fully agree, Jillz. As much as I've wished to be spared from heartbreak, I often notice that my journal entries are the most meaningful when I'm being honest about those feelings.


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