I heard a story once, a fable of sorts, about love. I'll try to reiterate what I remember of it here:
There was once a girl, a woman, the fairest and kindest and noblest in all the land. Yet, for all these sterling qualities, the girl had yet to find love. So it was, that she issued a call, a challenge to all the men of the land, that he who had the kindest, most loving heart would have her hand in marriage.
Men flocked to her cottage from miles around, tearing open their chests and ripping out their hearts, holding them up to her for judgement. But, for all their efforts, there was no heart that she deemed loving or bright enough, and so they went home in sorrow.
Then, one day, there came a prince, high and proud upon his steed. He opened his chest and showed the girl his heart, and all who beheld it said that it was the most beautiful, the purest and most shining of all hearts within the realm.
The girl, stunned by its beauty, almost gave up her own heart to the prince right then and there, but was interrupted by a new arrival. He was old, his face lined and weary, his back bent beneath the heavy burden of years and sorrows past. His cloth was poor, worse than that of a beggar; he was, in truth, a most miserable sight.
The old pauper bowed, back creaking, and said that he had come to answer the girl's call, for he knew he had the most loving heart in all the land. The prince sneered and scoffed at this notion, but the girl was kind and gentle, so she asked the man to show what he hid in his chest.
What the old beggar brought forth was a horrid sight; a heart so terribly small, so beaten and battered and scarred that it hurt the eye to look at it. All who beheld it shied away in horror, for the heart seemed to be the very essence of pain. The prince became filled with wroth at the sight of it, and demanded to know why the old man would wish to frighten the poor girl like this.
The old man turned to look at him, with sorrow in his eyes. "Your heart is clean and pure and whole, my prince, whereas mine is scarred and broken. Your heart, my prince, is as fair as it was the day you were born, because it has never loved. When you love, you give a piece of your heart to your beloved, and if the love between you fades or, indeed, is never reciprocated, you might not even get the piece you surrendered back.
"My heart is ugly and scarred because I have loved too greatly and too much throughout my life. I have given so much of my heart away, that I now barely have anything left to keep hidden, beating, in my chest. Love is sacrifice, my prince, and what you sacrifice is your heart."
The prince fell silent at these words. The girl stared at the old man, whose heart indeed was the most loving in all the land, and she was terrified at the sight of it. So it was, that she promised herself to never love, and so lived in seclusion, for fear of the pain it might cause. When she died, her heart was still as unspoilt as the day she was born, never having loved, never having lived. The prince met a much similar fate, hiding his heart away in the vaults of his castles, to keep it from harm. His mind grew dark and cold in its absence, and he came to rule with an iron hand; just, but without mercy and without love.
As for the old man... He died too, in the fullness of time, but his heart kept beating for far longer, for the pieces of it were scattered far and wide. Unheard, unfelt, unseen, the beating pieces of the heart lingered, a testament to the silent sacrifice of love.
/That's what I remember. Maybe not a perfect retelling, but, personally, I like the moral of the story. Love is pain, but pain is life. Hide from pain and you will never live.
