'Crafting the Broken '

 Crafting The Broken 

They talk of love like it’s a river, deep, wild, forever flowing.

But my kind of love?

It wasn’t a river.

It was a clockmaker’s workshop at midnight that's intricate, and full of forgotten pieces ticking in different corners.

I didn’t fall into it.

I assembled it.

Each time I was broken, I picked up the parts.

Not to glue them together with desperation but to restructure the rhythm of how I’d be loved next.

What about the ones like us,

who once carried heartbreak like a second heartbeat,

but one day decided:

“I will not let this sadness become my identity.”

So instead of sitting in a room echoing with "why me,"

you quietly rearranged your life like tidying up a house no one visits but you still want it to feel like home.

There’s a version of me the world will never meet.

The one who waited in the backseat while someone else took the wheel of my heart, only to crash it into silence and leave me stranded with headlights still on and no goodbye.

But that’s not where my story ends.

I stopped waiting for rescue, and began learning how to read roadmaps of my own emotions.

I stopped writing poetry for people who never understood the language of stillness.

And instead, I began composing symphonies with my solitude where every pause meant peace, not absence.

 Opened windows, not to let someone in —

but to finally let the old pain out. Chose a different kind of love the one that doesn’t beg to stay, but knows when to walk away, and more importantly… when to return to self.

Healing didn’t arrive like a hero.

It came like a gardener with dirt under their nails, planting patience in me, one season at a time.

I watered myself with early morning honesty, trimmed the vines of old conversations growing wild inside me, and allowed my heart to bloom on its own terms.

People say love is soft. But no one tells you that real love is textured.

It has splinters — of vulnerability.

It has weight — of responsibility.

It has echoes — of old fears that only the right person can quiet by staying.

Not by fixing you.

But by not leaving when they find a creaky floorboard in your soul.

Some love is like a fast-rising stock —

exciting in the beginning, but full of ups and downs. One moment you’re flying, the next, everything crashes. You’re left confused, always guessing, never at peace.

But the love I’m building?

It’s like a steady savings plan —

It grows slowly, quietly, but surely. It doesn’t rush, doesn’t scare you. It stays stable, shows up every day, and becomes more valuable with time, especially if you’re patient enough to wait for the real return.

We often meet the wrong ones, the storm-dwellers who teach us thunder but never how to rest in calm. And what do we do?

We start painting the entire sky with their weather. Calling love a lie. Calling kindness a mask.

Blaming the sun for the burn caused by someone who only handed us fire.

But the truth is:

The heart that’s been hurt must not become the hand that hurts. Especially not the heart of the one who comes next 

genuine, innocent, and unarmed.

I used to believe the one who makes your heart race was love. Now I believe, the one who slows it down is.

So, how do you win this invisible battle?

Don’t become a collector of people. Become a worshipper of peace. Not the kind of worship that bows down to someone who made you feel less, but the kind that lifts you towards the One who made you feel alive.

Because we don’t belong to someone.

We belong to something higher, a love that never needed proving.

Every person in our life is a different kind of mirror.

Some show us our softness. Some reflect our scars.

Some reveal the ego we forgot we had. And a rare few…they show us the parts we abandoned.

Not everyone is meant to stay. Some are just passing through with lessons tucked in their laughter. Some leave you with a bruised memory but a better version of yourself.

The one who sits with you during emotional traffic, when your thoughts are bumper to bumper and your spirit is honking just to breathe but they stay.

They listen.

They never rush the green light.

THAT IS LOVE. 

Unflinching. Unrushed. Unbothered by how long it takes for you to open the door again.

You see, I’m no longer interested in being chosen.

I want to be understood. Not admired like a painting, but felt like sunlight through blinds - soft, but still touching your skin.

And while the world is busy crying over love lost,

I’m rejoicing in the love I’m cultivating with myself, through time, with patience, with grace.

Heartbreak is not the final page.

It’s just where the handwriting changes.

And maybe, the love you’ve been looking for

isn’t in another pair of eyes but in the mirror you’ve avoided, the voice you’ve ignored, and the future version of you who’s still learning how to speak gently to their past. 

So here’s to the quiet rebuilders.

To those who didn’t post their pain but planted something in it. To those who realized the most intimate act is not giving someone your body, but giving them access to your stillness, your silence, your fears without shame.

To those who now know, love isn’t a treasure you find buried somewhere else. It’s a light you carry.

And the right person?

They won’t steal it.

They’ll sit beside it and let it warm them,

without asking for more.

And while thousands of verses are written about heartbreak, the kind of love that works — truly works —

is usually silent.

Why?

Because the ones who are content in love don’t always tell the world. They’re too busy feeling full, while the world still romanticizes the hunger.

We say we're heartbroken, yet keep feeding our ache with sad songs and bitter thoughts as if sorrow is something sacred. But tell me....

if your mind is a garden, why keep planting thorns?

You don’t owe anyone your sadness.

You owe yourself your becoming.

You owe the next chapter joy & not just survival.

No, healing isn’t loud.

It looks like a girl walking alone but not lonely, choosing sunlight after years of sitting in shade, learning to laugh - not to attract, but because she remembers what laughter felt like before it became a mask.

It’s easy to be sad, to crumble with every wind.

But to be happy? To really be light from within?

That’s a kind of strength not many write about.

So the next time love leaves without knocking,

say Thank You .

Not because you’re okay 

but because someone above saw the future heartbreaks you couldn’t.

And protected you in silence.

Love never dies.

It just takes new shapes.

Maybe not in a person but in a purpose, a dream, a morning that feels right again.

So here’s to the one reading this:

Don’t RUSH to FALL. 

Don’t FIGHT to RISE. 

Just CHOOSE to GROW .

Even if quietly, even if slowly.

Grow the kind of love that won’t collapse when someone walks away.

The kind that makes you the safest place you KNOW.