I don’t believe in broken hearts anymore. Just people who are so divided and partitioned that they become slumlords of their own souls. Souls with rooms once proudly decorated and alive. Walls where they shouldn’t be…like right down the center of a really great dining room. Grand hallways now condemned by neglect and abuse and cordoned by stacks of boxes of never. No one goes in there anymore.
When we were young, the doors stayed open and the music blared. But commitments were made and contracts were drawn and someone left (or was kicked out). We tried to keep the rooms just like they were but the new tenants didn’t seem to care. And we don’t walk the grounds like we used to. We sublet and divide and disappear inside and if you keep the lights down low, you don’t see the damage.
If it was beautiful once, it will be beautiful again, even if the layout is different.
So…one room at a time, you start cleaning. The old stuff gets taken to the curb. The COOL old stuff gets a spot on the mantle. Maybe new paint. Shades go up and sunlight pours in like 300,000 gallons of honey that spills onto the floor.
Suddenly the scars are patina. The flaws are character. That busted wall could be a cool place for a door so folks could come by and visit.
And maybe some flowers in the window.