so many of us are broken inside--very broken. for these people, the fragments cut what is left of their hearts. our families, our friends, our romantic others--broken too--break and continue breaking, for once we are broken, entropy may be the only thing to build up in any remnant of what could be considered progress. the works of these and these hurt people are what we less inspired hold in such high regard; that, or the great crafts of craftsman, technicians, attentive only to maybe insignificant details. we are all so hurt, looking at the pain of the hurt with pain struck through our transfigured hearts. but what of the less broken, rather, the more put together. those with intangible and immeasurable strength. they remain silent with stillness of their heart's breath. they breath for the broken chests. this is a beautiful creativity among the worst pain. in all of this, i hope.