I met a boy who kept his heart next to him in a fragile glass jar
In his heart he kept his thoughts, views, and emotions safe from judgement and hurt
I asked if I could see the jar, just have a look
he told me no, I didn't want the burden that came with knowing too much, but I persisteted
He took out his heart and showed me it.
The bumps and ridges, the bruises and the scars
I handled this information with care, and I kept his heart in my mind and then it was as if he started to read mine.
But my curiosity was not satisfied, it never truly was.
This time, I asked if I could hold his heart in my hands, feel it beating, memorize it's rythms
No, he said.
I promised I'd be careful
"That's what she said"
It then struck me that those blemishes on his heart were fingerprints.
I swore I'd never hurt him and he refused to believe me.
So I stayed up late at night and dreamed about his heart in my hands and I knew I could repair the scratches she left.
So I stole it.
I stole his heart.
He tried to take it back but I needed it and I held on for dear life.
My eyes burned with passion infused tears and he realised just how much his heart meant to me.
"Keep it."
"I never had any other intentions."