I try to close myself off after heartbreaks. Or at least install security defenses with passwords to get through. I feel smaller, but safer. But that's no way to live. Not really. And not for me.
I burn with passion sometimes. I cry when simply overwhelmed, whether by fear, pain, or joy. I wear my heart on my sleeve. And then I try not to.
The gods laugh, and throw people in my way to tear me wide open again. I don't think this is a bad thing.
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
It's all very scary, and healing is hard, but maybe fire can cleanse me.