It doesn't look like a heart.
If I saw it lying somewhere in the street I would hesitate & step over it. It doesn't look like a heart. I often see it in visions; see myself try to pick it up, handle it, hold it & show it to the one who loves me. I never know how to hold it. It doesn't look like a heart: So full of holes & stretched out & bloodied & dirtied & still kind-of pulsing; So stubborn! I pick it up with two fingers just at one corner (trying not to touch it too much) & it hangs down like a soggy ex-something now used for cleaning kitchen counters & tables & (in the end) floors (a horrible thing to handle without gloves) I cup it in my hands then & hold it up to him, crying tears over it & breaking it more (cause it doesn't look like a heart) & I don't know what else to give.
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