What would it be like if our hearts were worn on our sleeves for all to see? Would the heartbreakers be sorry or just take advantage of the fact that they can see and relish in the pain they cause when they shatter a heart into a thousand tiny fragments whose sharp edges make it hard for anyone to pick up the pieces and fix it? Would we think before we spoke, or still let the hearts bleed when our words sharp like jagged-edged knifes slash at the raw, tender flesh? Would stick and stones still break our bones, but words cut the rest of us up? Would love be found, or lost; betrayed, or revealed and shunned when no one wants it to exist? Would we try to hide the bleeding cuts and stitch them up with amateur sutures that that leave nasty infections that are hard to heal, and lifelong scars if they ever heal at all? Would we try to freeze the heart that feels to easily, hurts too much, and has no shield but paper-thin skin and muscle against the barrage of emotions like machine-gun fire that it faces in the battle of life? Or would we burn it, because the physical pain is better still than the dull heartache that slowly drives us insane? Would we try to heal another heart’s cuts and bruises and try to hold it together with trembling fingers that fear the possibility of crushing what it holds, or would jealousy rule us and have us smash another heart just so we aren’t suffering alone? If we wore our hearts on our sleeves, would the knowledge and sight of the effects of our actions stop us in the tracks of hurting someone else? …or would it only have us lead ourselves to our own demise?