[ WP ] Your clay heart has stopped beating .

“ Here, this is yours ”, as she extended both her hands out to me, the grey sculpture resting in her hands as it lightly beat. Elizabeth had beautiful, eloquent hands that were petite in every way, from her wrists to the tips of her fingers. Her nails were trimmed, but some clay still got underneath them in the process. She had the most slender arms, and the way her raggedy shirt folded around her torso, mottled in clay, was prepossessing. She had striking green eyes that hid behind her thin-framed glasses and rosy, supple cheeks that gleamed with purity and innocence. It baffled me when she gave me my heart. Someone as beautiful and pure as her and she made me, a heartless being, have a way to feel, to see, and to love like she did in the most wholesome way. 
 
 That was the beauty of my heart - it was molded and created by Elizabeth so, in a sense, I loved unconditionally like her, too. If there was any way to ever repay her, I was going to do it with the ability to love from this beautiful heart that now beat unfamiliarly. Over the years, I studied art and sculpting to master the craft like her. Whenever she was in pain, I would mold my heart to mend her wound, and whenever she was alone I learned to provide her with compassion and support. As the years went on I learned to always have a changing heart for Elizabeth. She gave me the ability to feel and so I wanted to make sure that she only felt the best from me, too. Together, we lived a happy, and well-crafted life. 
 
 I remember the last day with Elizabeth. She had been sick for some time now and I had been feverously molding my heart, making sure that every beat was for her happiness and care. I wish I could say it broke my heart to see her this way, but at the time I didn ’ t know how to sculpt my heart for this kind of pain. I had always created my love, my care, my happiness by molding the heart that she had once made. In the beginning, my heart was beautiful like hers, but in the end it was a creation of my own. I tried my earnest to master the techniques and perfect my craft to be like Elizabeth, my love, but in the end I had created only a hollow impression. I realized that what I had was no longer her creation, but a creation of my own. I couldn ’ t bear to live with the thought of not feeling anything when Elizabeth passed. I had no reason to have a heart, or to even mold it anymore. Elizabeth gave me the greatest gift of all, love, and without her my heart could no longer feel this. 
 
 I remember the day my heart stopped beating. 

