A perpetual bloom and collapse. The heart swells, whole and heaving, before fracture splits its symmetry like tectonic plates groaning beneath the weight of memory. Shards scatter, jagged and restless, ricocheting against the frame like cosmic debris.
The rupture spills, a tidal hemorrhage, love’s wreckage lapping against the walls like storm surge. The fragments swell into liquid crescendos, curling into barrel waves that break and fold, folding and breaking, until the wreckage becomes the womb.
From the salt and foam, a new heart unfurls - pristine, naive, beating against the inevitability of its next unraveling. An endless ouroboros of affection and ache, rebirth and ruin.
Love dies. Love returns. Love dies again.
This is the rhythm of existence, the eternal choreography of attachment: we build, we break, we rebuild. And through every fracture, we become more infinite.
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