For all its many inconveniences and agonies, there is an incidental upside to having a broken heart.
The condition seems very helpful indeed if one's trying to get some serious work done.
The list of artistic masterpieces primarily brought into being because someone was left is long.
La Vita Nuova, Dante, The Sorrows of Young Werther, Goethe, Either Or, Kierkegaard, In Search of Lost Time, Proust, Blood on the Tracks, Bob Dylan, Rumours, Fleetwood Mac, and last but not least, Face Value, Phil Collins.
Why should abandonment have such a salutary side effect?
And what, if anything, might we, who've got no plans to cut an album or go into print but might recently have been ghosted on Hinge, derive from the phenomenon?
Heartbreak's greatest gift is indifference.
We lose everything.
No one's come to our rescue.
We don't mind if we're alive or dead.
