Through it all I sat prostrated unable to move a finger. The big hurt pressed existence down to a single dimension and I was made of stone simply because my heart was not. No, but it was heavy. Heavier than anything else on earth, and all because he didn't love me. He who was lighter, and about as important, as the sand that catches in your hair on a windswept day. The more time dragged me along the more the big hurt hardened my skin against the world. I became a statue and my heart grew cold in its tomb. Years passed before true love would find me waiting, unmoved. And it fell like a hammer from the sky, freeing me from the past in a million flying pieces.