my paper heart will bleed

while waiting around mason a couple of days ago, enjoying the weather and the summer semester peace that falls on the campus this time of year, i think i actually wrote something happy. and by that i mean i wrote something that can kindasortamaybe be confused with happy. you know, like if you've just woken up and your eyes are still a little blurry and your mind still has one foot in dreamland. it's a little long, and i was considering not posting it on here, but i changed my mind because i have to look busy so my sister won't ask me for anymore help on her homework. because of that, feel free to just skip over it unless you too want to look busy and pretend you are reading something important/interesting/whatever. if that's the case, then by all means, read on. and this is just rough, unedited work. i think the editing will include deleting the happy part, though, so i thought i'd post it pre-edited.

oh, and remember when i was in a drabble writing phase? no? well, i was. i think my new writing phase is prose poetry. that's all i seem to write these days. so, um, here it is:

She had the most beautiful heart – a piece of art that took years to perfect. Soft and warm, it was held together with fairy dust and sprinkled with a million tiny yellow daisies. It was vulnerable, but she was trusting. She only saw good intentions and still believed in magic.

When he came along, she gave it to him willingly. Begged him to take it with a smile on her face. He put it in the trunk of his car with his old text books and empty water bottles, and didn't give it another thought. He forgot to tell her he was moving, forgot to say good bye, forgot to give it back.

-

She made a new heart out of glass. It was still pretty, still hopeful, but even more fragile than the first. She shined it with hopes and it sparkled with dreams. The light filtered through it to throw rainbows at the world, making even the ugliest of scenes beautiful. She stayed honest, because it just couldn't hide a lie, and she didn't believe in them anyway.

When he came along, he took it from her sleeve with whispered promises and crooked smiles. But in his showstopping juggling act for his one-man circus, hers was the one to slip to the ground. He didn't help pick up the shattered pieces, didn't help try to piece them together, didn't help dry the tears that wouldn't stop falling.

-

She built a new one, stronger this time. It was heavy with doubt, making it hard to forget. It was fortified with layers of insecurities, making it impossible to break. It was polished enough to reflect back to the world whatever face it showed her. She's starting to think that magic is used up in bedtime stories that end with the elusive happily-ever-after, and intentions are only good if you squint your eyes and tilt your head slightly to the left.

When he came along, with eyes you could drown in and arms that promised protection, he pulled it from her hesitant grasp. He left it for her later on her answering machine: tarnished, dented, and useless.

-

She cut a new heart out of paper. It was flimsy and unsymmetrical, but she didn't have the time, the patience, or the incentive to perfect it. There were discolored splotches where the tears she swore would be her last had landed. It was dull and lifeless, like everyone said her eyes looked now, and just as thin as she had spread herself lately.

When he came along, she handed it to him with a shrug, and he shoved it into his pocket. He used it as a coaster for his morning cup of coffee and to make airplanes out of when he got bored. When he suggested they burn it in a fit of passion and watch the ashes fly away with the summer breeze, she took it back: creases, torn edges, coffee stains, and all.

-

When he came along, she hadn't realized he had taken it until he showed her he had glued patches over the rips and laminated it with scotch tape. He covered it with glow-in-the-dark stars and put it in a frame to “keep it safe.” He gave her his own heart made of newspaper clippings so he'd have room for hers. She sprinkled it with gold dust, made up with magic, and realized that there may be different kinds of intentions, but the good ones were the only ones that matter.

ugh i dont know what it is about blogger, but i always like everything more before i read it on here.

*My Paper Heart - The All-American Rejects