I'd always imagined that my heart was always behind a high-walled fortress, secured with state of the art technology and guarded by huge, burly security guards twice the size of Vin Diesel. But deep down I know better, I know that my heart's guarded by nothing except a battered door barely hanging onto its rusty hinges, and that if I blink for a second, anyone can get past and do their worst. Or their best. So far, it's always been the first one.
I know I'm too flighty, too impulsive, too easily ruled by my emotions. This makes me an ideal candidate for heartbreak, and if it weren't for the advice from more pragmatic friends, I might be worse off than I am today.
At the moment, I'm not too sure what to do. I think burying myself in work and school is a good idea. I should stay away from matters of the heart for a while. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. If all I have for protection is a rusty door, then I have no business being open to attack from any Tom, Dick or Harry.
Or Andrew.
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