Joining the Broken Hearts Club is so cliché until you get offered membership yourself. Alright, “offered” is a euphemism. No one ever “offers” you entrance to the Broken Hearts Club. There’s no VIP entrance, no golden ticket. You get pushed in there without any say in the matter. Like court-ordered rehab.
“Hi, my name is … and my heart has been broken for… three months?”
Your introduction ends with the punctuation of one who doesn’t understand what they’re doing or how they got there. The Broken Hearts Club recognizes your insecurity. Cue the scattered applause.
Looking around the room, everyone you know is here. Friends, family, acquaintances. No one you know is actually immune to heartache but because there’s no 12-Step Program for romantic fulfillment or happiness, everyone’s using different methods to cope. In one corner, the cynics gather to deny they’ve ever experienced love in the first place. In…
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