A keyhole glimpse about a woman whose heart has been cracked too many times, her soul shattered and crushed beneath the wheels of life. She has suffered so long she is unaware of the decay. She has lost herself in the debris. Others have said, "God is only making you stronger". She has prayed often for God to stop making her so strong.
The true mark of unhappiness can only be seen in the depths of a soul. One can glimpse it on the surface; preening itself for others to see in shadows of tears gliding down a pale cheek. Shocked by it in the eyes of a morose woman whose breath has been stolen by the incomprehensible suffocation threatening the very life she leads. Enamored by the destruction it causes; comparable to the raging wars around the world. Of this unhappiness births a virtue she adopts like a child. She expresses a view of chastity, locking all her heart's doors in fear of the world beyond. She no longer entertains the meaning of love, nor the mere concept of romance, for the dissolution of her bleeding heart has shattered such mirrors. Her constitution absolved. Her demeanor lacking. All except the snippet of brain housing a memory so viral no amount of medication will ever annihilate its presence. Hope continues to knock upon her chained door though in vain, for even as her heart crumbles further into particles of dust she cannot contemplate the notion of a second chance. Inevitably, time and wounds tell the story of her existence and the culmination of her time line. Why would she be blessed with a heart so affecting it would arguably conduct her death?
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