Someone I know said to me, "A heart is precious, but so is time."
One of the most wanted and most dangerous things for a person is love. It's wanted enough for some people to reach farther than they are able, and dangerous enough for some people to stay away from making that reach.
The first girl I loved was someone from long ago. And I never told her, though I carried those feelings for many years. I was much too terrified to do anything with those feelings always trying to push out against the inside of my young, growing ribs. And an odd thing for me to admit is that, even though I haven't spoken to her in at least six years, I think of that today and, knowing it's far too late, regret never telling her. Not because I thought anything could happen. But just so that she knew. Only so she knew.
So after that, I decided any time I felt love, I would say so. And anytime I've said so, the statement would be disastrous, and I would be returned broken. And, I suppose, more educated, but never feeling used up or jaded. There is no sense in giving in to wear when there is life left for love upon your breath. Love is life's brightest butterfly to hold in hand.
It is, quite bright. But, of course, the most recent time I chose to unveil the entirety of my heart, I was beaten. And it's left me half-made--my body is mine, but my heart no longer belongs to me.
And that's what the danger is. Time moves safely, a heart does not. Are you prepared to be unmade? It's a high flying butterfly. Maybe you feel safer with your insides intact and inside. Or maybe you think you should throw open those doors and let fly your feelings. And even if you fall to the earth with empty hands, it might be worth the jump.
