There's no way anyone can relieve you of a broken heart. It must run its course. There may be a chance that you become a slave to sorrow if you let the condition fester. But no one can say that to you. No one is credible enough when you are mourning.
I wrote all my sadness. That was my way of dealing with it. I wrote everything: all the anger, the regret, the anguish, the sweetness of twisting a knife deeper into the wound.
Well, I'm writing this because it's strange to see someone else going through the same pain and to realize that I have nothing to say to that person. I can't say anything because I remember that no one could have said anything consoling to me either.
One thing, though, is inevitable: that it will pass.