I thought I would want my heart back. The one I gave to you.

After all, it belonged to me, and contained everything I ever was.

My past, with all its mistakes, regrets, and ugly scars I had hoped you would learn to love anyway, for they were still a part of me, a part of my story.

My present, the way I laugh even when I hurt, the way I love even when I break, the way I choose to believe the best and fight for what is good and face each morning with courage even when the night captures me with fear.

My future, where the best parts of me await my arrival, where all that I dream for, hope for, strive for will finally come together with surreal promise.

My heart belonged to me, but in freedom I gave it to you.

You knew of its fragility, its damage, how fiercely I protected it, guarded it, never allowed anyone close enough to hurt it again.

But you said you were different, you were safe.

And so I offered it to you, and trusted you to look after it as carefully as I always had.

At first you did. You admired my heart, held it with heedful hands, looked upon it with tender eyes. It flourished in the warmth of your love, so consuming, so fervid.

But soon your gentle hold became a weight that crushed as the grip of your fingers pressed tighter around the heart you once held gently against your own chest.

Possession. Jealousy. Expectation. Demand. Control. Anger. Isolation. Abuse.

My heart was no longer beautiful to you, but an object you sought to destroy. You pressed it between your hands until I gasped for air, until I begged for you to let me breathe, but even then you didn’t stop, you couldn’t stop until you knew you had crucified me.

And then you left, and took the last of my heart—shattered pieces no longer recognizable even to me, fragments of the woman I once was before you.

Still now, I lay upon the floor with my chest wide open, a gaping cavity where my beating heart once lived and breathed and thrived.

I thought I would want my heart back. The one I gave to you.

After all, it belonged to me.

But it’s no longer the same heart.

It will always be different now because of you. It will never look the same, never feel the same, never fit the same as it once did inside my chest.

It will have traces of you left upon it; fingerprints burned into places you gripped with such merciless intention, cruel words seared into wounded flesh, memories that blacken the core where there had once been light.

No, I no longer want my heart back, the one that you destroyed. Pocket it, keep it as a souvenir to add to your collection of hearts you have left ravaged in your trail of desolation.

For I will find a new heart.

One that will be bright and shiny and whole.

One that will be wiser, less eager to trust, more cautious to love.

One that will know its worth, and will only show itself to those who also know its worth, its value, its uniqueness, rareness, intention, beauty.

Yes, I will find a new heart.

A heart that, most importantly, will no longer hold any traces of you.

Author: Kathy Parker

Image: Francisco Moreno/Unsplash

Editor: Emily Bartran