The last time, as in the most recent, I gave you my heart was a minute ago. I sent it to you via optics and wires, via the clouds and the static and the satellites orbiting the earth we share. It travelled millions of miles and hitched a ride on billions of air particles; it traversed the one blue-black sky, dotted with the same constellations and galaxies and heavens.
You sent me a smile, and wished me goodnight.
The first time I told you my heart, I tossed it in the blender and ground it with a pestle. I transformed it into ink with which I wove a tale of desperation and hopefulness and resigned despair. I took the saga that was my—not yours, not ours— love story, my story of loves unfulfilled and unrequited, and compressed it into three words: I love you. I voiced them clearly into your face, several kilometres away. And when your eyes widened in disbelief but you didn’t reply, I told myself the confession (to a murder, to a crime) had been lost in translation from reality to virtual and back.
The first time I drew you my heart, I used the math of my age times the numerical value of my hopes minus your platonic feelings. The answer remained, unfortunately, less than three. I drew it again and again and again; I sent them to you by the truckloads, each conversation starting and ending with the characters, characteristic. I suppose that to you it became commonplace, that my sending them to you was part of our unusual friendship instead of my buried emotions. I suppose you thought them an inside joke where I thought them a serious attempt at adding up the negatives and infinities into something I could equate to. I suppose that, to you, they were just emojis; to me they were a last-ditch attempt to remind you that I need a heart too, but you have mine, so maybe can I borrow yours for about forever?
The first time I gave you my heart, it recognised you on sight, the first time I truly looked at you, and it leapt from out of my mouth and into your hands. It was clumsy and, I thought, almost unwelcome, on both sides. It found a new home even as it grew as crystal does; it found warmth but cold, haven but hell. It found comfort that lingered but was temperamental; it beat ba-dupm ba-dupm sometimes and at others it pounded its lonely cage.
But there it stayed, because it was home.
The last time I gave you my heart was the first time, because it’s been yours ever since.
wrote this about 2 years ago i guess... somehow, it's my favourite. i miss that feeling, of giving myself up entirely, of free-falling/flying.