the girl down glass after glass of her precious, red wine.
Watched her soul become enveloped in a warm haze of what she called love, watched her undress and unzip her skin and she stood there, head slightly tilted, staring into my eyes.
“Here,” she said, “are my lungs.” She pointed to the fleshy pink sacs, partially hidden behind her intricately shaped ribcage.
She carefully removed the ribcage, then the lungs, taking her time. All that was left was her beating heart. Even a romantic could not romanticize the grotesque beating of a true heart.
“This is my heart.” She said. “You may hold it if you’d like.”
I took a few steps to her naked flesh and held out both palms. I couldn’t decide on an appropriate expression for this precise moment, so I decided to smile.
When she noticed my smile, she quickly placed her beating heart upon my hands.
“Take it.” She said. “I want you to keep it. Keep it for as long as you’d like. Throw it out after I leave. Hide it under your bed. Feed it to your dogs. I cannot bear to have a heart any longer. It is too heavy a burden.” She began to back away slowly. I could see the tears forming within the cusps of her eyes. The setting sun cast an eerie, yet beautiful light upon our faces, causing her tears to shine brilliantly.
“I can never see you again. Please do not find me.”
She took a few steps backwards, slowly turned, and ran as fast as she could into the far distance. I watched her fragile frame become smaller and smaller until my eyes grew painful from squinting. I looked down at the beating heart I held in my hands and wondered what I could do with it.
What could one do with the heart of a stranger?
I looked up at the setting sun and gazed into its eye for a moment.
There. It had to go there.
With my fingers, I traced what was left of the glowing, orange ball. I peeled it backwards and carefully lifted the heart. I placed the heart into the back of the sun and carefully pressed it back into the peach-colored sky, wondering what could possibly be on the other side.
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