She lives in a fantasy world.
She wants everything to be perfect.
She would not budge for anything less.

She sees the guy in the corner - he is too common.
She sees the girl on the bench - she is not all that.

She can see the beauty of people in songs and misery. But
the beauty of real people is hid behind walls of fear and
reality. These people are real - real is weak, but strong at
heart.

She can see the hearts of fictional models and figures. She
can see the hearts of the poor. But she cannot take in the
hearts of the people who look for her company or comfort.
She can only care when it is far away.

Long ago she built walls, tall walls around her heart. She
knew she had hurt, and she did not trust anyone to heal her
heart. Her heart was unhealable. It bled and it poured and
it became hollow and empty and fragile.

She believes nothing will be the same. Nothing will be so
good again, nothing will fill the emptiness of a heart once
full of life and beating.

She still had the need to feel, so around the walls she
built a layer of comfort and compassion. She could feel
other people's pain. She thought that if she healed their
heart, maybe her heart will grow again.

But with the layer of comfort that she gave away, the wall
came tumbling down, and suddenly she was not protacted and
her little broken fragile heart was at sight, and she could
take no more. She could not give anymore.

How do you heal a repair a broken heart? Is it people, good
people who with truth and wisdom and good will bring you the
bricks and the strength to build it all over again? In what
way should you build the heart? Should it be different?


It ought to be different, She knows now the world and the
people are not perfect. There will probably be mishaps in
the construction. Perhaps the reconstruction will never be
finished. She will have to employ her strengths and passion
and her past wisdom to protect some parts, but she will have
to let others just fall apart.

This is, after all, what life is about.