There she sat atop the mangled body of the who she used to be, wondering what she had missed in the development process.
She’d been more than ready to give all that she was, even though it wasn’t much, over to the heart that had been stolen from her chest and inserted into another’s. It beat twice as fast when they sat together and over time she grew accustomed to the butterflies dancing behind her rib cage and the lack of breath that her lungs were too nervous to hold. She was ready to give away her smile and the sparkle in her eye. She wanted her heart to have it all as it beat within the other’s chest.
But something was wrong. She was thrown to the ground. Brushed off and set back upon the shelf once her lesson was learned properly.
Here she is now trying to understand. Confused and hurting but too proud to say a single word.
Perhaps it was her scars. The ugly brand that her past had marked her with along the way using her own hand as a sick instrument in torture.
Maybe it was the confusion in her mind. Sometimes she couldn’t feel right and some times she felt too much while others there was but a black hole to drown her mind in.
It didn’t matter now. She was rebuilding herself so he could be proud. She would cut away the parts that he didn’t want and sew together the beauty that was left. She would be more kind and cunning. More independent yet less isolated. She would be stronger but she would be softer.
And she will sew together a prosthetic heart while she waits to be given her own back. In hopes to never lie, but to never ask for too much help she will paint a smile on it so even if she’s crying she can always say “I’m fine.”
Her hands are bleeding from the needles and her cheeks are streaked with dried salt trails. Still her smiling mouth is strong. Still her pale eyes sparkle. Some day her heart will return. Someday.