Like your heart, once rendered granite, she can no longer fly, offer any embrace or consolation, nor help you find the humanity you’ve lost as you’ve aged.
She sits in the valley, immobile and stripped of her gifts of joy, laughter, and love.
No matter how intelligent you are, the parts of you worth salvaging almost always echo with meaning through others.
If experience taught you to value the wedges and justifications you’ve accumulated, you’ve learned the wrong lesson.
People will inevitably lead you to ruin; they also sometimes shock you with embrace and understanding. It is best that you not seek a manner to gauge men’s mercurial and uncertain hearts.
She waits, without hourglass or expectation, surrounded by beauty.
When you are ready, she will fly again.