Those are the passionate ones.
The ones who bleed zeal and show it.
The unapologetic ones.
They’re the red hearts.
These are young and full of life.
They exude youth as keenly as the sun exudes light.
Theirs is rainbows and unicorns.
They’re the yellow hearts.
These are the warm ones.
They give off themselves until there’s nothing left.
They know why they do, but we’ve stopped trying to understand them.
They’re the green hearts.
These have hope of better stories.
They are yellow in part, but reality attached.
They know where they want to be, and wait for when they will get there.
They’re the pink hearts.
These have been red before.
They’ve been mellowed by the times.
Tides have cooled their fervency – they seek deeper roots.
They’re the blue hearts.
These are the bruised ones.
They are cautious of ancient scars.
They are the ones who can still taste the remnants of pain, and desperate to be rid of it.
They’re the purple hearts.
These are the whole ones.
They have been it all and seen it all.
They are the fortunate ones.
They survived all odds and kissed different waters.
Rareness swims within them.
We’re the black hearts.