She used to wear her heart on her sleeve. It was open, it was free.
It was vulnerable.
It was prone to damage from inclement emotional weather. From without, from within. So it got hurt. It got hurt repeatedly. It was stabbed again and again, over a period of years, brutally almost. Like a bad murder movie scene. By the end of all that time, the heart had nothing but knife wounds all over. Every time it was stabbed, it had spurted thick, dark, red blood. So much of its blood was gone now.
It had retreated. It was scared now. It was a basic instinct to step back and distance oneself when one got hurt repeatedly. And so the heart had retreated into her chest. And it had become blacker, drier, more shriveled. Almost as if it were descending into old age. It had lost its youth, its vitality. She was only twenty five. It had closed up whatever was left of its soft, mushy insides, within a hard outer wall. It was more cynical now, harder. And wary. Wary of more hurt. And it would not let itself get hurt any more.
She wondered if it would open up again.
P.S. Extra points to those who understand the connection of the title with popular culture.
It was vulnerable.
It was prone to damage from inclement emotional weather. From without, from within. So it got hurt. It got hurt repeatedly. It was stabbed again and again, over a period of years, brutally almost. Like a bad murder movie scene. By the end of all that time, the heart had nothing but knife wounds all over. Every time it was stabbed, it had spurted thick, dark, red blood. So much of its blood was gone now.
It had retreated. It was scared now. It was a basic instinct to step back and distance oneself when one got hurt repeatedly. And so the heart had retreated into her chest. And it had become blacker, drier, more shriveled. Almost as if it were descending into old age. It had lost its youth, its vitality. She was only twenty five. It had closed up whatever was left of its soft, mushy insides, within a hard outer wall. It was more cynical now, harder. And wary. Wary of more hurt. And it would not let itself get hurt any more.
She wondered if it would open up again.
P.S. Extra points to those who understand the connection of the title with popular culture.
1 comment:
Are you talking about the Edgar Allan Poe short story?
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