There is something making movement,
in my hand.
It is very warm, it inhales then expands
Thick liquid drips down my fingers to the floor
Thumping sounds like steps coming to a lonely door.
The soft top layer squishes when I squeeze.
Though strong, very strong indeed.
This thing I can tell is very much alive and i feel my fear creep up inside.
For I know that though it's as big as my fist, it will falter at the tiniest, misunderstood risk.
So delicate and fragile, it's a lot to handle
It's not a toy, nor something to take
for granted would be a huge mistake
Because to somebody else, this heart does belong
and they have held mine too, all along.