I have decided that, when my being is challenged by fear or threatened loss, or loss itself, my heart does not break.
It does not crack.
It does not bleed.
It does not skip a beat.
I have decided, after much thought…
It just gets another wrinkle.
Like my face, and like my body, as it grows and changes with the years.
I’m sort of liking the idea of my wrinkled heart. All the wrinkles it has gathered so far, and all the wrinkles yet to come.
And here is why.
When I was younger, I paid a lot of attention to people’s faces.
And I would look longingly at the faces of certain older people, searching for the best ones.
Older people often scare little kids.
They can be loud.
Some had the softest eyes.
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