Her heart is like delicate glass in my hands. She has given it to me without question, without hesitation. She just reached down and extracted it as if it were nothing to do. So beautiful, so sweet, so kind. She asks nothing in return. I know she wants my heart though. Her heart of beautiful glass for mine of iron and rust. I wish I could give it to her, to make her happy for what she has given me. I cannot though. My heart must go of it's own accord, and it refuses me. I look into her eyes. I see her joy. I know that if flows from her heart only because I hold it in my hands. I wish desperately for her heart to turn, to turn away to some more deserving party with a heart of beautiful cut emeralds. Her heart refuses me too, and continues to settle gently in my hands. I can't do this. I can't accept this beautiful gift, being unable to return in kind. I try to give it back, but it will not go. I see the look in her eyes, and my sorry iron block rusts a bit further. I push harder, and cringe at the crack, shatter, and gentle clinking of broken glass. I'm so sorry. I know this lesson. It is easy to learn. Brittle things wil break before they turn. I'm so sorry.

My first nodeshell rescue. Whee.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.