It's a horrid world in which you find comfort in the warmth of your own tears- slowly, yet perilously coursing through the backroads of your skin, commencing at the dark clouds under your eyes.

They stream down your cheeks faster than blood through your veins, multiplying my the millisecond. But they don't reside there.

They race down the arcs of your chin, decelerating at every curve until reaching the shivering stone in your chest.

But the tears are no longer warm once they reach their destination.  They are bitter- unbearably raw- soaking into your heart faster than quicksand. So how does a frozen heart come to be?

The mystery has been unfolded.