(Wrote this one as a birthday gift for a friend, only finally got it polished and finished up today. Sorry for the lack of posting yesterday – I’m going to start trying to bring my iPad with me so that I can try and do posts most days anyway.)
Hearts are curious things, you see. They crack and bruise and scar
So easily. Or that’s what people think. You see, the first layer
Of a heart is made of lace – it’s beautiful and delicate, but tears easily.
That’s where all our disappointments lie. We shed it quickly,
When we’re young, and move on to a different sort of heart to scar,
One made of fine china, painted delicately; we make that our second layer.
But china does not hold up against the evils of the world, so that layer
Is broken and discarded. And so it goes. Of course, in the end really,
The thing makes a heart a heart, and the layer we all choose to love, are the scars.
They beat more strongly than iron, are more layered than silk and lovelier than flesh, by far.