If you are one of the few that I let feel my heart flutter,

like the miniscule bedazzeled wings of a Joyas Valadoras,

then know that you are one of the few that can tear those wings,

one of the few that can shoot down that tiny bird with a glance as sharp as an arrow.

Know that you are also one of the few who can repair those wings,

one of the few who can sew those delicate lace webs back together,

with sweat, and blood, and time, and tears, and love.

Know that you can send my heart soaring,

as high into the sky as as a comet.

Know that you can turn me into just that;

a tiny bit of fallen celestial rock.

Know that your voice can make me melt,

like molten lava sliding lazily down the side of an erupting mountain.

Know that your neglect, over time, can turn me into something that people will walk on,

but never truly see as more than the cold, black, hardened indigneous rock beneath their feet.

Know that you can build me up,

as high into the sky as the Eiffel Tower.

Know that you can break me down,

sending me further into the depths of Tartarus than Kronos ever went.

Your eyes,

you smile,

your face,

your laugh,

you heart,

YOU, can make me or break me.

Choose carefully.