The unbreakable have limits of wearing and tearing,
As does my heart.
At times I wonder about it's durability, and question if my idea of it is wrong.
For I used to think it was as fragile as fine china, gathering dust in an antique fair somewhere in the South.
But now I realize it is as cold and dense as the winter ground.
This small heart of mine has seen the rain, it has seen the darker days.
It has been swallowed and chewed, and tasted and tortured, time after time after time.
But the times it is appreciated brings it to its fullest potential.
I believe now that it is its happiest.

I look at the world from above and wonder why I am no longer scared.
Is it perhaps because I have found my meaning, or is it because my heart has learned to love?