We split our hearts into pieces and keep them hidden in objects, both animate and inanimate. So that when one piece gets broken, we've someplace else to hide, someone else to fall back on.

It sounds to be a prudent thing to do. It may have been, save for the fact that it renders us incomplete. So incomplete that when someone comes along, we fail to love them with every fibre of the being. We think that we do, but we do it with every fibre of only what's left.

We all have our Horcruxes, and they kill us and make us feel alive at the same time.

- A heart penned down