Millions of years ago a rock grew on the earth's surface. With wind, rain, sleet and snow, the rock was whittled down. Small pieces chipped away, turned into sand, disintigrated. Other pieces fell into rivers, rubbed smooth by their journey through time and place.

But one rock, one large rock nestled into the grass, hid away from the elements. The rock slept for years, one after the other. Snow melted off it, the sun beat down upon it and one day a small child came by, picked up the rock and threw it down the hill. The rock shattered into a million pieces, against the folds, the lines, the shifts that had once held it together. Within the pieces that littered the hillside, one small piece broke away from the squares and triangles the other pieces had broken into. This small rock shimmied down the hill, rubbed itself against other rocks until, rolled it's edges until it began to resemble a heart.

Once its shape was set, the rock waited in the middle of a busy trail for someone to notice it. It waited and it waited. People, dogs walked over the rock, tried to crush it back into the dirt, but the rock would pull itself out, dust itself off and wait.

It was a fresh spring day, one of the days when people could walk upright again, where the step became solid, sure, because feet once again connected with the earth instead of slipping and sliding over snow. The day had started sunny, followed by a quick thunder shower that washed the earth clean, freshened the smells of grass and earth.

A man wandered down the trail, his head down, looking at the rocks. His history entwined him with geography. As he wandered, he let his eye be caught by a small red rock that he picked up, examined, then discarded. This happened a few times as he got closer to the heart shaped rock. The rock started to vibrate, trying to be noticed. The man almost stepped on the heart-shaped rock but his foot stopped him before he could step down. He slipped on the earth and fell down - face first with the rock. The rock tickled his nose. As his eyes crossed trying to decipher what was in front of him, his pupils began to expand.

He sat up and picked up the rock. It was a heart. All alone in the world, this heart had weathered storms worse than most humans ever would and it survived, polished to a pure white gloss. The man picked up the rock and put it in it's pocket where the rock was warm, felt safe.

When the man arrived home, he placed the rock on his mantle, trying to decide who might be worthy of the rock. As the rock had once sat outside, now it resided inside, safe from the elements, with companion, but still not feeling like it had made it home, wherever home might be.

The man was popular in town, knew many people, but not one that was worthy of the rock. Women came in and out of his apartment without noticing the rock and so the man waited.

Night was in full swing. Stars were covered in clouds and Audrey Rose was dancing down the street. Her blood was warm with drink, with friends and laughter. She swirled around people as she passed them by.

The man was walking home from work, down the hill as Audrey rose was twirling up. They collided. The man fell down, once again and came face to face with Audrey rose's naked toes. Her toes made him laugh. They were rough and calloused, but the nails were painted a pearly pink, shining like the rock. The rock.

The man invited Audrey Rose home for a beer. Audrey Rose accepted. As she entered, Audrey Rose caught the scent of spices and vanilla. She inhaled deeply, let the scent lead her in. She flopped on the couch and cracked open a beer and then her body was pulled up, moved to the mantle above the fireplace where the rock sat.

"It's a heart without a body," said Audrey Rose.

"It's a heart that has a home, now," said the man. "You're the body it belongs with."

Audrey Rose held the heart-shaped rock in her hand and felt the warmth of millions of years of lonliness finally reconciled.