They say a torn muscle is forever weaker in its function, even upon healing, and can easily be re-torn in the same area. They also say bones never break in the same place twice. Their breaking point repairs itself to even more immense strength.
The heart is a complicated ***** with hollow chambers that pump us full of life. It is made of muscle…
But mine isn’t.
My heart is fist-shaped, covered in scars and dry blood, and every attack has left a new finger broken, each inhibiting my ability to perform at my best, but when the soreness bids farewell, so does my weakness. People like to tell me that I am strong. I am strong because my heart is always clenched and ready for the next fight. Even those who manage to open the hand will eventually be crushed by my grip. I don’t have any issues with this. As far as I’m concerned, no one will get a chance to start breaking knuckles for quite some time. Maybe by the time I’m risk-ready, I’ll relax just enough for someone to fit their fingers through my heart-spaces.
Until then, I’ll keep chipping away at the pieces of blood.