Her last Valentine's Day, my mom wrote a small poem on a paper heart for each of her children.
I lost mine.
For two and a half years I searched, unsuccessfully. Until last month. I happened upon it, slightly ripped but alive, and well.
It's kind of like my own heart, in a way. Damaged in ways not easily fixed, but still very much a heart.
Such a treasure it is on this day, reminding me I'm not completely broken. I'm still able to give and receive love. Even with my jagged edges.
Hope you're feeling the same, today.