Why is it that when you find a heart of gold, your first instinct is to break it?
I can’t help how easily my chest caves beneath your brutal hands.
I can’t help how my heart keeps me rooted here, waiting, just so you can make your move.
Maybe it’s only natural.
Predator to prey.
Monster to human.
Or maybe it’s just too hard to resist touching the fragile pulse of a soul laid bare.
But a heart of gold is heavy, too heavy to carry once it’s been shattered.
So why do you do it?
Why do I have to stand here, watching you take what you sought, what you claimed, in silence?
While I beg you to put it back.
While I choke out the question: Why do you want this?
Tell me.
Tell me why I deserve it.
Can’t you hear it? My heart of gold screaming.