They say that broken crayons can still color.
They’re right, I suppose.
A broken crayon isn’t ready to be thrown away;
There is still a little life left in there.
But broken crayons don’t color the same, do they?
Their edges are smudged sometimes;
They don’t quite stay inside the lines;
They don’t quite fit where they used to.
At their core they’re still wax and dried color,
Melted and combined to create something beautiful.
They are still a conduit to magic and imagination
As they transform a blank page into a masterpiece.
I cannot help but wonder if broken hearts work the same way?
Do broken hearts still color the world with beauty?
Are they worth rescuing when the world is ready to throw them away?
Do they beat with enough life to make it through another day?
A broken heart is a changed heart,
Altered by the hardest parts of the day,
Changed by the darkness that broke them and the
Misfit band-aids that try to heal them.
At their core, they are muscle and blood,
tinted by memories of life and love and hope and regret.
They are able to be squeezed and bruised and chipped
And yet they continue to beat and give life and hope.
Broken crayons still color, despite their pieces.
Broken hearts still beat, despite their shattered bits.
Both are shattered, both are a mosaic of beauty and
loss and redemption and love.