To heal a broken heart

My heart pounded like a stampede by a passing herd of wild buffalos and butterflies flutter excitedly in my peritoneal cavity. When. I. Saw. Mr V.

I saw at a distance when he was crossing the narrow road from the old ward building to the casualty building. I instinctively adjusted my collar and pulled back any flyaways back onto my newly washed and fluffy and perky hair, and quickly glanced at my reflection on the entrance glass door.

My heart called out to Mr V, wanting to tell him that I've missed him terribly. He didn't see me, so he kept walking and finally into the building, and quickly was out of my sight.

A pang of regret. Which quickly became a relief. Which in turn became a transient heartache. Which finally became resignation.

Don't worry, it takes time. No one is expected to heal from a broken heart very quickly.