A heart can only be broken so many times before it refuses to comply. Some build walls around it, others let it go to ruin with each falling blow. A heart is a precious thing, the container of all emotions, foremost being love. My heart had seen so much already and experienced beyond what a normal heart should. I was young and let myself run free in a world that I believed had no real restrictions to what a heart could feel. Little did I know that there were limits and boundaries as vast as a sea, but could tighten within moments, threatening to squeeze the very light out of a heart. People wonder why other people turn cold, and what made them that way. I would not blame them if heartbreak turned them sour and left them to contemplate ever loving again. For, a heart is a fragile thing, and not just an organ inside, beating. Without a heart, one cannot live. Without love, one cannot live. So, as I’m sitting here, thinking about you and our hearts and how they beat at different paces like a drummer always being just slightly offbeat, I begin to make boundaries within myself. Here I am, building up walls. A stone for each time you hurt my feelings, another brick for each insult and curse. I’ll blame this on you, but it’s only my way of self-preservation. I want to keep what’s left of my heart untouched and ready for someone who is worthy; someone that won’t tarnish it or break it into two like you did so quickly, so forcefully, too sudden.