I thought I would want my heart back. The one I gave to you.
After all, it belonged to me, and contained everything I ever was.
My past, with all its mistakes, regrets, and ugly scars I had hoped you would learn to love anyway, for they were still a part of me, a part of my story.
My present, the way I laugh even when I hurt, the way I love even when I break, the way I choose to believe the best and fight for what is good and face each morning with courage even when the night captures me with fear.
My future, where the best parts of me await my arrival, where all that I dream for, hope for, strive for will finally come together with surreal promise.
My heart belonged to me, but in freedom I gave it to you.
You knew of its fragility, its damage, how fiercely I protected it, guarded it, never allowed anyone close enough to hurt it again.
But you said you were different, you were safe.
And so I offered it to you, and trusted you to look after it as carefully as I always had.
At first you did. You admired my heart, held it with heedful hands, and looked upon it with tender eyes. It flourished in the warmth of your love, so consuming, so fervid.
But soon your gentle hold became a weight that crushed as the grip of your fingers pressed tighter around the heart you once held gently against your own chest.
Possession. Jealousy. Expectation. Demand. Control. Anger. Isolation. Abuse.