Heart-shaped.

The other morning, I looked into the mirror and saw the facial shape, the hair style, the thin unhappy mouth of the person towards whom I feel the most enmity these days. All that differed was that my eyes are blue, not brown; my hair reddish, not black; my skin ivory, not mocha. I stared at that person, that stranger in the mirror, and pondered a Kafka-esque sci fi story where hatred becomes a disease that transforms you into the form of the hated, perhaps even into a clone. What are the implications of that? Besides needing a haircut, of course?

I walked to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and rummaged until I found the silver heart the Husband gave me as a Valentine a few years back, the silver earrings with Chinese script the Girl selected for me Christmas two years ago, heart-shaped also. I've worn them every day since to remind me to find the place with love inside me, and shape my actions from there.