She bruises easily.
Not her skin, mind you, but her heart. And how could it not be when she wears is so readily on her sleeve. It was like a beacon, attracting more sorrow than she can carry in her arms. It was a target so easy, one barely had to be a good shot to take aim at it.
Is it bravery or stupidity? Volley after volley fired and no shields are raised. Does she care so little of herself? Awaiting destruction by way of heartbreak seems to be the quest.
No.
She cares too much, exceedingly so that she feels not right when she shuts herself out. The heart is worn proudly because she doesn't know how to live any other way. She reasons that all the joy that comes her way and she seeks out are worth more than the darkness.
It is madness to others.
It is life to her.
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