The Girl Who Kept Her Heart in a Jar

Just old brick and mortar surround the clowns who danced for you in the garden, in the divine intrusion of sunlight or God. You wait silently for your cue, for the first strains of La Sylphide, in a room with no windows. It is these moments when you can hear your passions and penances swelling like rain clouds. It is this moment when you recount your last conversation and it strikes you as strange how he insisted that “cats make the greatest lovers” when he knew you hated them. You had wiped the blood from his lip and laid next to him in the quiet eyes of midnight that was penetrated only by the light from a small tear in the blind. You had questioned nothing that night, your back to the mirror, drinking glasses of rain and firewater; you felt at home in that stark silence. Yes, that heart was left to die, the one that had first love and was replaced.