our hearts are made of paper

I don’t love you anymore. we’re not family, we’re not friends, we were lovers, or I wanted us to be. it ended because the continents were too far apart, or it never even started, or because you rejected me out of a whim after an intense relationship.

I loved you with all my might.

you wrote me a poem that still makes me smile, we frequently exchanged something we considered “texts” and I won a literary prize with a love letter I never gave you, or you weren’t that writer kind of guy.

when I think of you, I think of happy moments, I think of how we met years later and the spark was gone, or it just makes my heart crunch- literally, I can feel my body closing up, it’s too soon.

you all gave me moments of joy, and devastation- some more than others. I don’t know if I believe in love, or what that’s even supposed to mean. all I know is I offered myself up to you, I became open. I kept no boundaries of my self- I trusted. no matter how messed-up you were, kid, or still are, you were everything to me. my world revolved around you so much I forgot about myself. so yeah, can a heart only be broken as many times as a piece of paper can be folded, is there a limit?

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One Response to our hearts are made of paper

  1. Jessica says:

    Oooh, heck.
    Well… don’t hold it that way too long; might get a cramp.
    Random acts of heart-opening make the world go ’round, don’t ya know.

    xo
    J

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