I never knew my heart. I just happened to meet it as it was being torn from my chest. A brief aquaintance before it was dropped on the ground and stepped on. Nice meeting you.

I met someone who reminded me it was there, on the ground at my feet. He made me stop staring straight ahead - made me look down and see it there. I had a heart; I had to accept it. But I was unwilling to pick it up and count it as a part of me.

Then I met someone who picked it up off the ground. He reminded me it was a good heart, and worth keeping. Not trusting myself, I left it in his care, and everytime I saw him I could feel it more healthy and happy than it had ever been with me. I was glad I let him keep it. But then he moved away, taking it with him and away from me forever.

I'm back at the beginning. The very start, where I have to realize at some point, if I'm ever to have a heart again, I'll have to grow a new one.

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