How many hearts are we born with?
Two? Twelve?
And when we die, are there any left over?
Because when we get our hearts broken,
somehow we find it in ourselves to love again.
From the wee age of "puppy love"
all the way to "always and forever", we get back up.
No matter the hurt we endure, we can find a way to revive ourselves.

Or at least most of us, I see,
because while everyone is defrosting their backup hearts,
I lie here dying.

Being born so long ago I must not have been lucky enough.