Moon Heart

He held my heart in his hands and he asked me, "Why does it look like the moon?" "What do you mean?" I asked. Why would my heart look like the moon... "There are so many craters; it doesn't look smooth at all." I looked at him and then looked at the heart that was dimly pulsing in his hands; it looked like it was barely holding on, like it was close to falling apart into little stars in the sky, each one once filled with hope, but like stars, distant. "I'm not perfect, and I know it. My heart has holes. Why? Because I've had someone step all over it in the same places over and over again. Before the hole could smooth out, someone else then claimed it as his own," I explained as tears rolled down my face and fell onto my heart as though it were rain falling down on the tattered, tired world. "That's okay," he reassured me, "that's actually quite perfect. All these holes show me you're human, you're perfectly human."

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