Sometimes your heart breaks quickly.
A hand of thorns squeezes tightly around the soul’s flesh and you bleed out. When a child dies suddenly. Your husband of twenty years leaves unexpectedly. Your beloved pet is killed instantly by a car.
But then there are times that your heart breaks slowly.
The fragile veneer chips away gradually, revealing a heart that isn’t made of solid wood like you thought. Over time you become more and more fragile, the tender layers beneath slowly crumbling.
Sometimes the fast heartbreak seeps into the slow and you die broken.
Slow never heals.
It leaves an indelible black mark on your memory; acid rain when you cry. Tears that come from nowhere when you least expect them. The heart’s blood, like acid, burns. Continually hurting the tender parts that haven’t yet hardened.
Only sudden pain makes instant concrete.
Only the quick destruction makes you seem impenetrable.
But the slow…the slow turns you into glass.
The slow turns normal grief, or circumstantial sadness, into long-term depression.
Or depression that tries to jump its way out and become temporary happiness.
But which always…
Depression is the face of gradual, unending sadness.