ever since i was born, there's been a hole
in my heart. i clumsily blocked it with
cotton wool, pasted it over with
purple-patterned plasters, and
left it to heal.

it never did.
then i met you.

you seem to know everything, to know
far more than i could ever aspire to
about mending hearts. you took out some
disinfectant, wiped away
the peeling violet, picked out
the ***** of snow with wooden tweezers, and
pressed your hands to it.

i don't know how you did it, but
you
knitted
me
back together.
and
even though i still need the occasional push, the
reassurance that your hands will be there when i need them, that
they want to be there,
you fixed me.

thank you.