I will not cry another tear. I will not become an Ophelia to a Hamlet, a toy to a boy who only wants me for some physical attraction. I am beginning to doubt that there is ever anything more than that. I threw away my heart but I never gave anybody the key. And so here I sit, empty, and afraid to trust, afraid to pick the shriveled organ from the sewer and give it to somebody to repair. This way, nobody knows where it is. I hold this key to my soul close to my empty chest.

When the streetlights come on and the fireflies flicker, we were walking back home making plans.

These plans never turn into action. And if they do... what am I supposed to say? Here's this black thing, try to love it.

It was once my heart.

I am so afraid.

It suddenly rained on us and for the first time I felt pure. As if my heart had been washed clean and made new, and I was ready to hand it away once more. But the key is still in my other hand and my hands cannot bear to make this pretty ornament wearable. My sin is creating gods out of men. Feeling too deeply. Trusting immediately. And having a key that can do nothing to protect my heart.

I can't trust you.

Like autumn turns leaves, winter will breathe, cold on our necks, snow in our paths.
Wherever she goes, all that I know about us is that beautiful things never last,
That's why fireflies flash.

Please be more than a flicker.