Hearts can be windows. Glimpses of pure thoughts. The hurried rustling of closing curtains. Overwhelmed with fear of reproach and judgement.
Hidden secrets inhibit genuineness . Ashamed of the true self, identity is fragile as glass, like a shattered personality.
Joys comes urgently. Sadness comes swiftly. Life walks a fine line between the two, a balancing act, of happiness. Despair.
Hearts become weary and calloused, hard as stone. Forsaking empathy for the safety of closed doors and dark rooms. Why?
Sometimes, it is easier to close doors than to open them for the unknown across the threshold.
Fear stifles motivation. Worry consumes love. Pain agitated hatred.
Hearts are pure. Reckless and free. Words, wielded by the those we love, can make us, or break us.