I have no words of wisdom.
I am brokenhearted. I don’t know how to write about being brokenhearted, because everything I do write comes out like maudlin middle school poetry. Not knowing how to write about how I feel makes me feel even worse.
Whenever any of my friends have dealt with heartache, I have always given them advice that I genuinely believe: if something is meant to be, it will happen of its own accord, and if it doesn’t, that means something better is waiting for you.
I have yet to see this philosophy not come true, but it’s hard to tell it to yourself. Especially at bedtime.