It comes out white, pure and innocent. Blank to the onslaught of those around it. It’s defenseless--delicate, vulnerable and prone to be easily ripped, torn apart and trampled on. You can make a mark on the paper and the mark could be rubbed out with enough patience and time.But once you rip the paper, once you scribble on the paper with ink; once you cover the heart with blackened ink; once you drown the heart in blackened tears… you can never get it back the way it was at the beginning.
It just lies there, forgotten, and once remembered, it’s ready to be picked up and awkwardly fitted back together again just to be torn apart once more. It suffers many wounds and once the heart has finished bleeding and crying out, it heals. But once it heals, it leaves a scar--just like when a piece of paper is torn apart, you have to tape it back together again and those torn and jagged scars will remain forever--an ugly reminder of the pain.
So how is it possible for my paper heart to keep beating?
We have to just keep picking up the pieces over and over until you meet that one special person, who’ll kiss the wounds better and heal it. The one person who will take forever if he has to, carefully piecing back the puzzle pieces slowly and surely with masterful fingers (so gentle, that it almost hurts) to glue the you back together until you're almost whole again.
That one person is out there,
I just need to look harder.
Until then, my fragile, vulnerable and prone-to-be-easily-ripped-torn-apart-and-trampled-on-heart will just have to keep on beating.