The condition of our hearts is a fickle thing.
The way it swells and shrinks.
What it holds.
What it gives.
Its beating, and the beating it can take and still press on.
And if it should ever be moved, what a feeling it creates!
If it should ever be touched, that is a goodness that will never be forgotten.
Like fingerprints, forever etched into the very thing that sustains us.
Impressions, both good and bad, leaving their marks.
Resulting in an artistry that plays its part in defining us individually.
Mosaic patterns, where the light and the dark, turn into unseen beauties carried by us all.
Masterpieces of the heart, crafted into every wall.