She walked into the room, tired and unhappy. She only came in here when she was unhappy. Nobody knew when she came in here. It was just her, alone. She slowly opened the door of her chest and pulled out her heart. This one was very sad. It was cracked all over. She looked at the cracks, remembering how they came. There was a huge smash in the middle from what someone said. Smaller chunks taken out from things she should and shouldn’t have done. She looked to see what she could salvage. She pulled out a piece here, a piece there. All nice things that she wanted to keep. She threw the rest of the unsalvagable mess into the pile of other, unsalvagable messes. She reached for the ingredients on the shelf, threw in the small pieces she wanted to keep, and mixed up a brand new heart. While it was cooking, she worked on a new face. She threw away the frown and whipped up a brand new smile. It was too happy, but it would work with the new heart. She slid it on and it felt uncomfortable, but she knew she would grow into it. With help. She pulled out the heart, cooked to perfection. Full of memories of nice things. It was smooth and perfect. She was sad a little, she knew it couldn’t last. But she would try and keep it together for as long as possible. There were things she could do to mend cracks, forgiveness she could give and offense she couldn’t take. There was especially one person she could cry out to in the middle of the night who would send down a kiss that would fix the cracks, through His forgiveness. But eventually, like all the other hearts in the room, this one would break beyond repair. And she would labor over a brand new one. She would come into the room and remember all the old hearts, and be sad for them. But she learned from them. She learned how to put up a cage to keep some things away. She learned new and better ways to fix her heart. She learned that it was ok to throw the hearts away sometime. But she always, always dreaded coming into the room of smiles and hearts. But she always left feeling better.