Dearest,
Today's heartbreak menu consists of bang bang bang zang zang clang clang and a little word of malice. It is vile. The tears lashed out like a tempest and raged for two minutes; to encourage more just defiles the ephemeral beauty of it all. You know, dearest, that Strength is sometimes good to stow away than to be disrobed and let the sun shine on it. It disgusts the shit out of anyone who is going through their own heartbreak menu. It is nothing like Brew of the day on the chalkboard menu, believe me.
Strength, in all its chicanery, is often overlooked as a shortcoming and proverbially clouded with glory and goodness. Strength is no family to being distraught or battered down by a useless past. Strength hurries one to run before one can walk. It is petty and proud. It is also very pretty. A sight that brings pleasure to the senses, and speaks with every word of truth. Every word of truth that only lasts long enough before age starts to show.
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