she held her heart in her hands,
bloody and broken.
it still beat slowly.
tears dripped down her face as she asked where she had gone wrong.
as she questioned how she could have ended up this way.
the heart kept time;
cupped in her fingers like she held the world.
it could not heal itself.
nor could she.
she could only hold it and protect it,
arranging the pieces to look whole.
it would take another to stitch the broken shards back together;
someone willing to cut open their hands as they sewed her up.
it would take another to heal her bruised soul.
she could not do it alone
for she had to hold her heart together
or else everything would fall to bits.
and then all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put her together again.
YOU ARE READING
a last note from your narrator
Poésiepeople write because no one listens - h.h. a collection of short stories written in various points in my life. mostly bad points. fair warning. title from the book thief by markus zusak i...
