Today my heart was broken. Literally. While cleaning my office at work, I knocked over the red heart piggy bank that my boyfriend gave me for Valentine’s Day. I nearly cried. I’m a sucker for sweet gestures, so I really liked that bank. It was an unexpected gift, especially since we had just started dating and he’s not an overly expressive or publicly affectionate person. I was touched that he had filled it with my favorite candy and delivered it to my office. Never mind that the candy somehow melted inside; it was the thought that counted. So seeing it in pieces on my floor today was an extreme disappointment. I’m sure it won’t be replaced, and it was beyond repair. When I told a couple of girlfriends what I had done, their first instinct was to tell me they hoped it wasn’t a bad sign. As I vacuumed up the smaller shards, I secretly hoped it wasn’t either. Of course, I guess if accidently breaking a heart-shaped gift is a marker for the end of a relationship, then pretty much anything can be. And I don’t want to start down that slippery slope. Even though I’m not usually affected by superstitions, I do tend to worry. And I really like him; we’ve been friends for a long time and I want our relationship to continue. Thankfully, there was one large piece of the heart that remained intact. The one section that had another, smaller heart drawn on it. So I kept that piece and put it on my file cabinet. You know, just in case.