She rolled the sixpence between her knuckles,
As she thought about everyone she'd ever loved.
Was it love?
It's easy to say no, in hindsight.
Theoretically, your love should grow, along with that person,
Each person being loved more than the last.
The next person is one step closer to perfection,
Because we love, and we learn.
We learn who was right, and who was wrong.
Like the sixpence, currency, it changes, it evolves with time,
It gets stamped with a mark, true to its origin,
Even after decades of changing hands, that mark is still visible.
One penny could travel the world, collecting fingerprints.
Or it could stay in one place, as a collectors item,
You could savour and cherish it, waiting, waiting for its original value to increase,
Or you could let it go, passing it on to someone else,
Letting someone love it better than you did,
There's a reason we change hands, why we're shared out as we are,
Money is *****,
Just like our hearts.