I hold a jar of hearts—not the fragile kind made of glass, but the quiet, invisible kind we collect over time. Each one holds a story. Some are warm with kindness, some ache with lessons, and some still glow faintly with what-could-have-been.
This jar reminds me how deeply I have loved, how bravely I have trusted, and how fully I have felt. It is proof that I have lived honestly, even when life wasn’t gentle. Not every heart returned the same tenderness; not every memory remains sweet. But each one shaped me.
There is weight in this jar, yes—but also wisdom. I am learning to hold it gently, not as a burden, but as a reminder of strength: that I can break and still rebuild, give and still protect, hope and still grow wiser.
My jar of hearts is not a symbol of loss; it is a quiet testament to resilience, to healing, and to the courage it takes to keep feeling in a world that sometimes forgets how.
No comments:
Post a Comment