Ink

Although the paper fades, the ink does not.
It's embedded forever with the ball point pen.
Some day the paper will disintegrate,
but the words are etched for ever.

You know archaeologists have found tattoos on prehistoric men and women? Marks of war, love, famine, and fortune proclaim on mummified bodies telling a tale of their lives- hundreds even thousands of years later.

If you have professed your love from the innermost depths of your soul is there room to love another? Where does that room come from? Is the love tainted?
If you gave your heart to someone then how can you give it away again?
If you gave your heart to someone and they broke it wouldn't they still have the pieces anyway?
If your heart was thrown away how do you know where to look for it? How do you know when they threw it away? What if they still have the pieces and plan on fixing them some day?
Can you even ever really get your heart back once you give it to someone?

If it's etched on a note and was once carved into your soul, and another soul- a covenant made that your heart, life, or possibly even your soul itself belongs to someone then how can you possibly give make that same promise again?

Your are not born with two hearts, no one has ever heard of two soul mates. You can't declare one thing for two people. What's done is done. They came in 2nd place. They are 2nd best.

So why commit your life to someone that could never grasp even a fragment of your heart? Why try to love if you know you can never fully give yourself to that person? It would be an empty offer. A mendacious heart. A lying heart. A heart that will never truly ever be touched, not even with the most delicate sliver of your own heart.

How can you just turn off your adulation and the promise you made them and yourself in a moment? Does it ever go away? If you meet someone else do you just bury it only to take it out again when they don't compare? When things go wrong will that first love always linger? How can you love with all your heart if someone always has a piece of it?

What about "the one that got away" and where do I fit in?

But what is this, my own skeletons? I would burn them all if only I knew where to look. I despise every little reminder of something that I thought once was. It is like I lived a lie.

I was blinded and bound; I didn't know any better. All I needed was to have the blinds removed so I could see. I was going through the motions living with the decisions I made. I hid in a shield of false happiness to hide away how I really felt. I didn't think I was even human until my heart was broken. I never gave it away. I always held onto it and the pieces cut deep into me. For every time I was able to embrace a piece of happiness it was taken away from me. I don't even know where I fit into this world.