I’m sorry that you can’t tell me that this gift of my heart means anything to you. I wish you could. I wish it did. The things inside this heart, the emotions and worries and fears and even the pain, have been laid out for you to see, amid the ruins of these walls of flesh and fear that I hid behind for so long. I had hoped that you would take these things I’ve given, and hold them close in your heart, protecting and cherishing them now that I no longer have defenses around me to protect them myself. But your own walls are too high, and you could not reach my gift. So I will begin again in building up these walls, weaving them through my heart once more. Next time they come down, I hope that someone will be there to catch me while my castle falls, taking down with it another piece of my heart, crumbling in the dust of these walls.
