If beginning wasn't so difficult,
I'd start with your heart.
With my head pressed against your chest,
from the very beginning,
I trust it -
it and it's racing rhythm.
I think perhaps only half of what I hear is your own.
Because half of it is mine,
as I hear the blood rushing through my ear.

If middles didn't need to be so complex,
I'd elaborate; gently.
The simple truth is that my heart doesn't even deserve yours.
Mine is cold, and closed, and controlled.
"Love who I say to love."
But yours is open, and patient, and loving,
and I learn from it, as it slowly thaws my own.

If endings didn't hurt,
I'd like to say your heart is the end of me.
I think your heart compells me to love more freely,
for mine beats a different and new beat;
it beats for you.
And I believe I could love your heart,
until the day my own gives out.