“Where do broken hearts go?” I asked momma as she tucked me under the silk sheets, delicately playing with my hair.
She laughed, “Oh honey, there is no such thing as a broken heart.”
“What do you mean momma, I see people everyday without a heart on their sleeve.”
“Your heart can only break when you give it to someone who is willing to drop it. You wear your heart on your sleeve because it belongs to you. You must never give that power to someone else. You must give love, all the love you can from your heart. Never letting that love exhaust. You must accept love in return, never overwhelming yourself. But never give away your heart, that is for you to own and for you to hold.” I asked another question. Listening to her talk was like watching chocolate melt: slow, powerful, sweet. “But momma where do all the people who gave away their heart go?”
She took a moment.
I looked at her.
She opened her mouth to the truest words that I was not able to understand at such a young age, “Down the Silk Road waiting to trade their old hearts for new ones.” She kissed me goodnight.
Momma warned me like the sun warns the land of the upcoming moon that brings the darkness with her, upon us.
I find myself walking the Silk Road. It’s dark. Her words are echoing in my ears. What was once chocolate now feels like knives.
I wore my heart on my sleeve only for him to rip it off.
Momma, where are you? I whisper, “I am lost.” Makeup: Salvador Avena
Photography: Salvador Avena
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