Paper Heart

She loved you with her paper heart

and you loved her with snow

As soon as you touched

she became pliant and translucent,

in risk of tearing,

with just a single blow

But you also loved her with brisk winds

that lifted her up and let her fly

       —she whirled, and soared

           above and beyond

           the clouds of doubt that made her cry—

and cut her strings of sorrow

She loved you with her paper heart

and your name is signed in ink

scribbled messily 

smack in the middle

pointed and slanted

smudged onyx with a bit of pink

She loved you with her paper heart

but then you let her go

because parchment

wasn’t made to endure

repeated foldings and unfoldings

it was cruel not to let her go

She loved you with her paper heart

and you know she didn’t leave whole

there was a piece,

a tiny piece,

of a torn corner

that remains tucked in your soul

Because you loved her with uncertainty 

and she loved you the same way

And uncertainty 

sometimes meant permanence

even though reality

chases the dreams away