How often can the shattered heart
be mended and pieced back together?
How many times is one to many,
for the scattered pieces
of a broken and empty heart,
to be remolded and reshaped
into the visage of a living beating heart?
And what of the pieces that have been lost
to the tidal waves of time, or
blown away on the winds of fate?
The tiniest pieces which make up
the core of who we are, gone,
leaving behind only a barren husk
of what we once were, through
the process of mending and piecing
a shattered heart back together.
How many times is to many
to reweave the lattice work of the heart?
How frayed must the edges be,
with holes worn throughout the pattern,
before the work of reweaving
becomes an exercise in futility,
and is abandoned for
the lackluster beauty of a
new and improved tapestry?
How many times is to many?
I wonder.
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When I was depressed I used to lay awake at night crying. It felt like someone had stabbed a blunt kitchen knife into my heart, shattering it into a million pieces. And every time I put it back together again, there always seemed to be pieces missing. Until finally, there was a very real piece of me missing.
That piece of me is still missing, or perhaps just unacknowledged any longer. It is a place of numbness, which replaced a hole filled with sorrow. It is dormant and quiet in my heart. It does not speak, even in whisper, any longer.
But letting that piece of me go, taught me a great lesson. It taught me how to expand myself beyond my own personal perception. It taught me to love unconditionally, without expectation or exception. And it taught me to see the value and goodness in everyone, even when others could not.
But what did I lose in the process? I wonder........
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