A time ago —

the details are a little fuzzy now —

I ripped out my soul

and placed it inside you

so when you hurt I hurt;

when you laughed I laughed;

when you loved I loved;

when you breathed I breathed.

I didn’t know I had done this

until I saw you holding it one day —

raw, exposed

to the elements.

I panicked — how did you get that?

You said it sprang from your lips

when you let yourself love.

I clutched at my chest,

terrified at the power

this woman held over me,

my soul sliding

between her fingers

trying to mend it without losing

too many pieces.

So I asked you how,

how could you let yourself love?

You opened your chest

and told me to open mine

and there it was —

her soul pulsing, whole,

where mine had fallen apart.