If it's not broken, don't fix it

It's not broken, not yet. It is just cracked, still keeps its shape. Recognizable and without any doubts you can say it is a heart.

The cracks have probably apperared some time ago. Those lines, thin as hair, meandering along the surface. They resemble a bit the ice on a river or a lake before the spring finally comes; the thaw has been there, it has done its patient job of loosening the molecules and bindings. There is dark water underneath, waiting to be released. And then, when the pressure is too great to be withheld, one night with a mighty noise, like cannonade, the ice breaks.

She knows this pressure and the pain that ensues. It has been broken before, so she learned to read the signs. She prays for the eternal winter, for the unchangeable season that will stop the ice from breaking; she dreams of the waters frozen down to the bottom, and her heart made of the dark unbreakable glass.
December 15th, 2015

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