Every thing and Nothing

23: hearltess and hearty

My heart is yours. I ripped it out, out my chest, bloody hands and gasping for air, I handed it you. I was on the floor, watching you as you picked it up, you held the beating heart, listened and maybe even remembered, the way it sounded, to which drum it followed. I smiled as you caressed it. Then you squeezed it, clenched it, not caring what it did to my heartless body. You watched as tears rolled down my face. Then you reached into your own heart, ripped out your own heart, and when I thought you were going to give it to me, you gave it to her. You dropped my heart to the floor, my fragile and glass made heart. You didn't even flinch at the sound of the shattering. I sat there, bleeding and crying, picking up the pieces. I locked them in a box and hid it in safes which were in more safes. Under top security. And I carried on. Now heartless, I gave up my heart to no one. But when he came, he fixed it, with delicacy and gentle fingers, he pieced me together. And as gratitude, I stuck my hands back into my now fixed body and drew out my heart and soul, they were gifts he revered. He kept them safe and kissed them good night. We died with one another's body, hearts and souls connected. You made me heartless. He fixed my heart and soul. The heartless and hearty.

-Esha Dev