Hearts

Can I pose a question?

What is it that compels us to allow one another into our hearts? At the beginning of every meeting of the human spirit we are given two choices: either we are going to let someone see our hearts (even if only a piece of it) or what we show them will simply be farce. 
I know I am not the only one who has put their heart out there into the open and prayed to God it would not be trampled on. But I suppose that is one of the ways in which we grow. We build our hearts with the pieces found in these little boxes labeled with our names, given to us from God. 
Of course, as children, at first we put the least amount together possible, our hearts and desires being simple. But as time goes on, our hearts break and we have to fix them, each time growing bigger and, hopefully, more beautiful.
But why do they need to be broken?
Why can't we just assess our hearts as we grow and think, "You know? I think I could do better." Then, with that thought, we carefully take them apart, gentle as can be, rearrange and then present our "better" to the world. 
Maybe it is because we would miss the intimacy which spurs wisdom into which pieces we lay our hands upon next. 
A few days ago, I had the experience to be with the Sun. It was beautiful, bright and everything seemed so clear. But as the night fell and the Sun was setting, I felt tears in my eyes as I tried to behold its last disappearing rays. The Sun reached one of the last shining tendrils and wiped away the tear in the corner and how my heart did rise even while being cracked just a little. Bittersweet was the moment, we realized and soon the mountain obscured him and I was left to the darkness. 
Of course, as suns are apt to do, the Sun rose once more but obscured in the clouds of distance. Now, I am not one to completely turn down the shade or even a little rain cloud but my heart ached for the Sun's warmth and so I shouted to it with every fiber of my being. I didn't want one ounce of my feeling to go unnoticed but, although the Sun expressed tenderness toward me, it would not come back and in some instances felt as though it were becoming even more distant.
As the Sun began to set once more, I couldn't stifle myself any longer for fear that if I didn't let my heart be known that I should implode like a dying star, turning into something that would continuously draw light and life into it without being able to feel the warmth ever again. 
The Sun blinded me with its fierce truth and I realized then, the Sun was not mine to keep--nor should I have ever been under the impression that I could hold it to myself. 

And so, I realize I have done what I have done now countless times before. I allowed someone into my heart, gave them a measure of my intimacy and care, concern and--dare I say it-- hope, and find myself dashed against the rocks under the salty tears of an ocean. 
Now, I must open up that little box (I imagine it to be made of porcelain, a music box of sorts, that plays a melancholy but no less lovely song) that reads "Cassidy" and sift through the pieces that I have yet to find a place for in the heart I have composed--for it must needs be composed like a song rather than built like a building. 

"For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads."

Doctrine and Covenants 25:12

So here is to those who allow those we come in contact with into our hearts, giving them the very tools with which we compose and construct our hearts so that they may break them down and give back to us that we may try again, to face our burning Suns and rest in the Moons of our time.