I have a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve,
get it stepped on, and then promise myself to never
show it again; to keep it locked away in the dungeon
of my chest until someone can come with the key.

I have a malfunction to fall for someone again and again
and not wait for them to find a key but rather hand them the key
to my own heart, assuming that they need a little push in order
to be let inside.

I have many, many false assumptions about love
and optimism, and that maybe each time I like someone,
maybe each time it'll be different,
maybe the next time I won't feel any pain,
I won't feel ignored,
I won't have to do all the talking, all the convincing.

And now, I have a broken heart.