Paper Heart

When I was little,
I drew a big heart
on pretty virgin paper.
The middle was hollow,
it was merely an outline.

When I was a bit older
I handed that drawing
to an unworthy boy,
who took it, and giggled,
and handed it right back.

A little older still
I gave it to a boy
who folded it carelessly
and stuck it in his back pocket.
It was crumpled when he gave it back to me.

I once handed that drawing
to a charming boy,
who promised to look after it.
Instead he cut it into little pieces
and scattered them on the floor.

I gathered them up, one by one,
and held them close to me.
But as much as I’d tried,
I didn’t have them all.
Some must have blown away in the breeze.

But then you appeared.
You took the little pieces from me
and taped them back together,
and you filled in those missing parts
with little bits of your own heart.

Then you did something
which made me stumble in surprise.
You took a big red crayon,
and you coloured that heart in,
before placing it in a frame and hanging it on your wall.

The big heart
that I drew when I was little
is now crumpled and frayed.
The paper is no longer virgin white.
But, you see,
it’s better than it ever was before;
because you coloured it in for me.

written by Cynical Romantic