O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.

I have had my heart broken, though not cut in two. Gratefully.
It does feel quite a bit more dramatic to have a heart cleaved than broken or cracked.

Today I found myself with heart aching for a small boy on a marvelous train. The train is from decades and decades ago. It features sights, sounds and feelings from long ago. There is something to wonder at every turn. If not the train-car itself than the people dressed up in the car or the people watching it with astonishment as it arrives. There are no shortage of ways to receive magic. And this small boy had a smartphone on which he played a game and never looked up.

It’s not a heart cleaving so much. He’s not my small boy. But to think that a small boy is already so immune to wonder, to think that he will grow up and never learn how to marvel at anything, well it does make my heart ache for him, his future and all the little ones like him who will only find patterns in front of them to look at.

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