Once upon a time, there lived a girl with a paper heart.
She wanted to have a whole heart, a well rounded heart that beat fiery red, and released its fragrance like a very red rose.
Instead, her paper heart felt all papery, and thin, and crumply.
She was overwhelmed with sadness because of the state of her heart, and the sadder she felt, the more crumply her heart became.
Then one day, a little bird sang a tune outside her window.
It sang delicately and it sang sweetly.
It was so small and fragile and yet it sang such a beautiful tune, and it soothed her crumply heart.
She realised all of a sudden, that there is much beauty in fragility.
And so she opened her heart.
Out of her paper heart came such beautiful things, they came out because her heart was open.
Out of her heart flew paper butterflies in an array of colours. Dreams that she had long forgotten flew out as butterflies and they made the sky beautiful and light, and pretty.
Wherever they landed, dreams were planted in other hearts which would one day grow and make more butterflies.
Wherever they landed, dreams were planted in other hearts which would one day grow and make more butterflies.
Out of her heart poured paper flowers like fragrant offerings to the world around her. People wanted to learn how to make these paper flowers. Friendships were formed and bonds were made which could never be broken.
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| © Photo by Elle de Burgh. |
Out of her heart came stories that were written on papers which held history.
Each paper knew when it was made and the hands that made it.
Notebooks handed down from grandmothers to the daughters and granddaughters that followed in their footsteps.
There were journals which held secrets, and truths, and revelations and promises, whispers that could easily have been forgotten but would now have a voice that carried throughout the ages.
Each paper knew when it was made and the hands that made it.
Notebooks handed down from grandmothers to the daughters and granddaughters that followed in their footsteps.
There were journals which held secrets, and truths, and revelations and promises, whispers that could easily have been forgotten but would now have a voice that carried throughout the ages.
And because her heart was made of paper, she had the names of the ones she loved written on her heart, never to be forgotten.
She didn't know how long she would have a paper heart for, but the more she opened her heart, the less crumply her heart became.
Much love.
xxx
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