A long time ago, my heart was broken. He was a friend, one whose love I thought I couldn't return, until one day I did, and it was too late. I was distraught; I thought I had finally found perfect love, and, the blind idiot that I was, had managed to lose it. But I knew nothing would come out of dwelling in my misery. To get over that heartbreak--and, more importantly, to get over hating myself--I went on a mission to focus on life's messages of love for me. By love, I didn't mean romantic love; I meant the love that says I am always blessed, that I haven't missed out on any of life's joys, and that the happiness that I thought I'd lost was still there for me to delight in, to take as mine, to give to someone else. Still, even if I didn't mean romantic love, and because I had missed love even when it was staring me in the face, I wanted life to tell me it loved me by sending me, why, yes, hearts. What could be more obvious, more telling, than hearts?