my heart is like a piece of paper
it's mine to write on and decide its fate
i treasure it and protect it with all that i am
and then you come along
and convince me that you could take better care of it than me
or that you want to write a fairy-tale or love song
upon its veiny lines.
so i give it to you to guard, i hope, with all that you are
and sometimes it comes back a masterpiece
or a song that i love to have stuck in my head all year round
or a story i'll read over and over and pass on to my children
and their children and their children's children
(if i live that long)
but sometimes you throw it back in my face
or crumple it up in a tiny hard wad
or let the little shreds of fiber mingle with my tears as you leave,
and that hurts, because I trusted you.
but sometimes it never comes back at all-
sometimes you keep it forever
and wrap it up in bubble wrap and keep it near your heart
and sing to me the song you've carved on its surface
when i'm old and gray and curled in your arms and we're still making out.
and this, my love, is the very best thing.
but remember, my heart is like this piece of paper- once it's given away
it never comes back