It was beautiful. Every curve and smooth surface. The clear, glassy sculpture reflected the blue and white light around it, absorbing the depressive and dismal shine. It rested precariously on a pedestal in the middle of the cold room and the attention of the viewer could not help but to be drawn to it.

The sculpture was soft with a light all its own. It stood by itself, reaching out to anyone who dared to look at it. The viewer must touch it and draw in its warmth. It makes them feel better. Everything they are lacking that they can’t get from anyone else; it will give them.

If they need love they will never feel more loved than they do when they are touching that sculpture. If they need hope they will never feel more hope than in that moment. If they need strength it will give it to them. It will give them anything they need, no matter what the cost to it.

Because every time someone touches the sculpture it loses some of its luster; something inside of it fades and a little bit of its warmth escapes. Person after person comes up to it, drawing and taking everything they need from it.

Word spreads and there is always someone taking what they need from it. The beauty starts to fade and the surfaces start to get rough. It’s no longer clear with hundreds of finger prints on it.

Every now and then it falls a little, its perch on the pedestal losing grip. Still they keep coming and it keeps giving. With everything it gives to others it doesn’t have strength for itself anymore.

People start to get angry when the rush that it gave them last time they visited isn’t as strong the second or the third time. It’s starting to lose power because there’s nothing fueling it. All it had is being taken away.

Eventually it can no longer absorb the light around it. The surface is too clouded and damaged. The room grows dim over time and the sculpture is now on its side, hurting desperately. Yet it still keeps giving. It has to. It has to help these poor people. It has to give them what they need.

It has given these people everything it has but they’re angry at it. They want more than it has already given and no matter how much it gives it will never be enough.

Then one day one of them comes in for love. They’ve taken it over and over and they need it now. They lay their hands on the sculpture but nothing happens. They try again but still nothing.

The sculpture has become a pathetic and horrifying sight. It has fallen on its face, a small crack growing deep inside it, barely visible through the callous and dull exterior. No light pierces through and any glow of its own has long since vanished.

But that person can’t see what they and so many other people have done to it. Instead of understanding what the little sculpture has given to so many people they grow angrier.

Why can’t you give me what I need?! Why can’t you give me what I want?!

A hard blow to the sculpture causes the crack deep inside to grow. The person leaves the sculpture even worse off than before. It isn’t long before the next person comes in with the same results.

Over and over again the sculpture is scoffed at and hit and hurt. The crack inside of it grows and it joined by chips on the outside and other cracks throughout. All the warmth is gone as the glass becomes ice.

The ice is even more fragile than the glass and in the last blow to its once tender surface the sculpture shatters. The tiny pieces fly throughout the empty room, the dark all-consuming and terrifying.

No one visits the sculpture anymore because it has nothing left to give them. It had everything taken away from it and in the end it broke. The pieces still lie on the floor, waiting for someone to put it back together so it can go on helping others. But no one comes and no one can fix it.

The little glass heart with all of its warmth has been destroyed because no one noticed that it was dying.