My heart hurts because you have yet to return it.
You're holding it tight within your grasp and even if you offered it back I would hesitate.
It still loves you more than it can say.
It beats to know you and love you but cannot because the truth is breaking it in half.
The blood pumping and suffocating it's function.
But God squeezes it back together.
Morphes it into what she used to be.
Fills it with blood pure as the ****** and white as snow.