Fold a paper heart,
it leaves behind a crease.
When you flatten
that paper heart
the crease remains,
a lasting reminder
of the painful fold,
of losing love and
passion gone cold.
Now fold that paper heart
a dozen times or more,
then unfold it yet again
and see creases by the score.
That is the way of life,
of love, and painful losses,
each a crease upon the heart,
each a burden of crosses.
We cannot escape these
creases upon our hearts.
If we live, we are destined
to feel our lives torn apart.
Furrows upon a heart
are like wrinkles on a brain,
they are lessons we have learned
and knowledge we have retained.
So even though my heart is now
battered and scarred from many cuts,
I will hand it over again to new love
and tell myself that it is tough,
and can withstand being folded again.
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