Break, heart, and be done.Crack like an egg, expell your gold,Be barren, empty, dry.Don't grieve, for what never really livedCan never really die.Don't look for the tiny, featherless bird;If you see it, close your eyes.The little love that was never bornWas never meant to fly.Break, heart, and be done.
(I know it sounds a little angsty. There's nothing really new going on. It came to me as an image, though, a new way to look at some old things I've been working on.)
