Hurt Heart

I am having trouble coming to terms with the concept of ‘broken heart’.
In short, I just don’t understand it.

Thinking about it is like trying to capture a sunbeam in a jar and use it as a night light; an impossible and confusing thing even to contemplate, much less do.

Surely, someone should have broken my heart by now. I feel like I am missing out on something.
Other people talk about having broken hearts.

Don’t I have one to break?

Or is it made of such tough stuff that no-one is capable?

Neither option seems particularly romantic.

Some things have hurt my heart, I suppose. Yes, that would be the best way to describe it. A hurt heart. Losses mainly. They have driven me to my knees weeping. They have winded me, doubled me up in pain, haunted me at night.

But they have not broken my heart.

The thing is, once something has been broken, it can never be properly repaired, and the pieces of a broken heart are pieces I don’t think I could ever stoop to pick up.