girls like you.

I've broken another glass heart. I try to pick up the pieces but, with each guesture, I attain another scratch, another scar, another tear. "There are names for girls like you," she whispers with her breath grazing past my ear. I grip tight to the rope and hold back the river. I scream and plead with the world to open it's heart for a moment. The warmth surrounds me and, suddenly, I can't breathe. I panic even though I know that I should, in turn, open myself and offer the last beat. With shaking hands, I unravel the thread that is my skin, my protection, and reach in to feel the throbbing life within my chest.

I sink to the floor with my heart wrapped tightly with all of my fingers entwined around each other. But I can feel it crying for air and my throat catches in desperation. My mouth gapes open but nothing is projected, not even a slight gasp. I stand and am face to face with myself.

My hands are cold against the glass held up by the frame of what seems to be my last existance. I have a reason to live, to love, to laugh, to cry. I raise my arms above my head in a threatening motion and a gutteral cry escapes my mouth as I throw all of my worries to the other side of the mirror. It shatters before my eyes and falls to the ground silently. The room is suddenly pitch black and all I hear is my heartbeat against the wooden floor pannels and my breath, heavy yet relieved.

I feel a rush of renewal and begin to sob. Back on the ground, I grip my legs tight to my chest and allow myself to cry until my throat burns and my eyes feel heavy and weak. My heart still beats only inches from my feet but I can't seem to muster enough strength to retrieve it. I can hear it's desperation to continue beating and I can also hear the exhaustion it holds. A gust of warm summer wind envelopes the room and I can hear someone breathing with me in the darkness. Footsteps lead to where my heart still lays and I can hear it's beating get louder and louder.

I feel it as she places it back within the open hole in my chest, warm and wet and comforting. She swaddles me like a child and whispers yet again to me,

"There are names for girls like you."