you handed me your heart

you handed me your heart

By Julieta

you say i’m genuine (and think i can’t take a joke because the truth of what i do doesn’t fit in with the untruth of your words, but that is not what we’re talking about—you say i’m genuine). 

WE ARE MADE OF STARDUST but i am made of hope, 

and you are made of love 

and i break whenever you look at me, because you don’t see me, and you never break, because you are always seen, but never see. (you never see!) how can this possibly satisfy anyone? i would let you consume me—your flames could eat me alive—, but would you let yourself fall into mine? 

don’t answer that. 

you haven’t seen my flames. how could you know you would fall into them and survive? 

you said i’m genuine. you don’t joke with me. you look me in the eyes and say, i would survive because you wouldn’t let me die. you said i’m genuine and you say i would pull you out of my flames, whether they be a flickering candle or a raging inferno. 

and i feel like throwing up because I WOULD PULL YOU OUT EVEN IF IT BURNED MY ARMS AND SCARRED MY FACE BUT if i (when i) fall into your flames you don’t even notice. you look at me, but you do not see me. i hand you my heart and you forget it on the floor. you hand me yours, and you forget you ever did. (“can you keep it safe for me?”) i whisper that you leave it so unprotected, and how supremely bad an idea that is, and you think but you have it? but you say, “it’s a long story.” and you turn, and you walk away. and this will sate us both; this trust sates us both. 

but i will go home and write about it, 

and you have your heart back in your chest 

and it will beat until you die. 

WE ARE BOTH MADE OF STARDUST 

but i am made of hope, 

and you are made of love 

you hand me your heart, and forget you ever did. you handed me your heart. when you looked around and could not find it you assumed it was safe with me. 

but i had handed it back to you. 

darling, 

WHERE IS YOUR HEART?