Hearts are not constant,
They each have many shades,
Their colour depends not on themselves,
But the light shining on them.
In the light they radiate beauty,
Each hue complimenting the other,
But in shade they lose focus,
And at night they are lost completely.
But Hearts are not black,
They only appear dark,
Nor are they red,
As even the most loving know hate.
Instead they span a spectrum,
But made of the same,
Hearts are pastels,
When touched they merge,
Blending towards each other,
Bridging the gap.
Although they cannot always fuse completely,
There will always be enough different colours,
For hearts to find companionship,
And trust, if not love.