What is one to do with a heart that’s been torn out? What am I to do but try to tease it back to life and stitch it up, I can’t very well let this piece of me die can i? Perhaps I want to the ache would end. This cold would finally end. I clinch the scared mess of tissue in my chilled fingers. The thing hardly gives a shallow beat anymore perhaps it’s already dead. I feel a bit like I’m already dead just a miserable empty shell that keeps wondering aimlessly. I think about how it felt to feel the warmth of my own pumping blood and I can’t exactly remember. I feel the muscle contort lazily in my hand. No it’s still alive I think. I bring it to my face balancing it on my palm worrying over its fate. And like that the fragile thing is snatched from me.
What should I say to him? You’re a pretty boy who stole my heart absolutely stole it and there’s little I can do about it. I so freely give it away to be trampled upon. Why would he even want it? Its scabbed over with fresh wounds layered in abstract patterns over deep puckered scars. My heart my greatest treasure has grown weary and diminished in its value after so much damage.  He must see that when you ponder its texture in your hands. Why would he choose mine to run away with? Why would he take something no one else has wanted for any reason other than to break? What does he plan to do with such a thing? I can take no more!
You’re going to hide it from me aren't you? He is going to leave me cold with that gaping wound in my chest ! He is going to leave like all the rest but this time I will not hope to mend my wounds, I will die!! Or worse I will live with this terrible ache, as a bitter cold person a used tormented person with nothing to give. Give it back! My panic ridden frigid fingers grasp at his arm and his warmth invades me. Electricity dances on my skin and my heart beats faster where it rests in his palm. It responds to his simulations in violent ways and I realize my heart is his. Hidden from me, or returned it will never truly be my own.I Could hardly keep it alive very much less induce a reaction like that. What matters now is my frigid touch against his heated chest. I feel it beat faster. His hearts never been taken or rejected never marked hardly neglected. A tinny mummer and that is all. I can’t even get to his heart, he never offers it. I’m scared I can’t tell if I have everything or if I will be left with nothing. Still I am enamored by the warmth; he is warm, so warm.
He places the ****** sputtering thing in his pocket. I lean against him for his warmth and he pounders me with his big blue eyes. I feel my heart beat fast dancing strangely against his jacket. I am as confused as he looks, with that beautiful smirk appearing on his face and curiosity burning in his eyes. I simply don’t understand. And I wonder to myself what it is I am doing.
“Why did you take it?” I whisper my resolve dissolving in his gaze.
“ To keep it safe,” he replied a disapproving crease appearing on his brow like he was remembering the textured scars running beneath his fingertips. “To keep you close” he murmured his eyes changing almost imperceptibly at his quiet confession. “Because I want it.” He finished his chin lifting slightly as if challenging me to refute it. I was too tired to fight for such a broken thing, and I knew I couldn't win. I was to desperate to want to think I could believe it. I rested there against him in silent thought, it was warm there. He watched my face equally silent as he wrapped his arm around me. My heart sputtered again as I pulled my face in closer against his warmth. I sat there waiting for it to calm I pressed my pink ear against him and heard another bombardment of heartbeats from the other side of his rib cage.  A hope I didn't know existed showed itself in my hidden smile. Nothing has ever seemed so scary, nothing ever so promising nothing ever so improbable. Perhaps I think to myself this is love.