For every broken piece she’s got, she makes a paper crane to remind herself that bruises heal. And every day she makes 3 paper cranes, after making each one she shrugs her shoulder and smiles.
“Well that’s life” she says and falls asleep in her mediocre bed and her pillows tasting salty from her tears during her nightmares.
One morning she got up and realizes she has plenty of paper cranes living in her bedroom floor, in her sunflower kitchen, in her garden, in her beloved tub. There were so many that she couldn't count them off.
Then she placed her palms on her chest and realized she no longer has anything beating and then the world was never the same again.

How many pieces must have fallen from her heart?
How many left?

All those paper cranes were static but she needed answers. A lot of answers. She needed to hear why those pieces were torn and why she was severely suffering.

But no one came and whispered soothing things on her ears. The night fell and the moon was big and bright and cried because that was the only thing she could do. Her hands can barely make another paper crane to remind her that it was life.

The moon was wide and big and quiet but she felt that the silence was all she need and the moon became her refuge.

There was no one to save her but at least, something to turn to when loss is becoming unbearable.