My Stupidly Broken Heart

A while ago, a young artist I barely knew died.

I never met that person, so I know that my next sentence is going to turn me into a candidate for Bedlam, but ever since I heard about that passing there's been a tiny hole in my heart.

I miss that person more than I miss some of my blood relatives who died.

I know it's weird, but that person was a very interesting artist, and I really, really wish I'd discovered more about that person's works before it was too late.

Last night, something odd happened. I was looking for some info, and as I often do, I hopped from link to link, and I eventually found myself on a page that mentioned that artist - a page that mentioned a Facebook page and a Twitter account.

Now... don't call Bedlam just yet, please, but, yes, I do find myself reading the frozen timeline of a young artist we've lost, and the few things I read have widened the little hole in my heart because that person was funny, witty, goofy, interesting, challenging, and now that I'm on Twitter, I really wish I could have tweeted that person.

I know that I'm somehow sorry for myself because I never even was on a stamp-sized map for that person, but what a bloody loss.

I'll keep reading these tweets from months ago. They're going to make me happy and sad, but I want to know more about that person, even now that that person's gone forever.

In my book (and no need to tell me it's silly; I know it is), the world became a tad darker and sadder the day that person died. I'll keep the tiny hole in my heart for as long as I'll live.

I've got no right to miss that person, but, hell, I do.