I gave you my heart
and you gave me your own
after school sometime in early spring.

I found my best paintbrush
and in a few careful strokes,
I put my name on your heart
in my best calligraphy.
You pulled out an object
I was all too familiar with
and placed the blade against my heart.
Then you pressed down,
and I don't think you realized
but when you wrote your name
it sunk in deeper than I think you meant to,
and you ended up carving your name
into my heart.

Then you handed it back to me,
and asked for your own,
so I had to return it,
paint strokes and all.
Soon enough you had managed
to wipe off all the calligraphy
and your heart was good as new.

I wish you had made it so easy for me.

I've given up by now
on trying to fill the space
where your name has been engraved.
I've accepted, I guess,
that you'll stay there forever.

But I have yet to
get used to the inscription,
and I want you to know
that next time,
you should really use a paintbrush.

Carving with a knife hurt a lot more.