the greatest work of art i have ever seen was when a man dislodged his beating heart and left it on a canvas. and—after his corpse had been carted away—you could see the imprint of where his organ had been, the faded echoes of how it expanded and contracted on the cloth, the rhythm in the red strokes, the lyrics to a song about how when veins turned into arteries there’s nothing left to fight for.
just like you…
you steal my words, and twist and shape them into a deadly origami of blades and spikes and daggers that sink deep into where my heart should be.
that’s why leave petroglyphs on your soul and rock carvings on the stone of your story—so that you’ll never forget me and no one will mistake the symbol of my signature. because, in any language, it reads: i love you.