Oh my heart, how I’ve wronged you

A reflection.

Can you see how battered and bruised my heart is? How mercilessly its been torn apart by graceful vixens, only to be mended, then torn apart again..

The pitiful state of this poor palpitating vessel in my chest is such that, were it not for the shielding and protection my ribcage offers, it would tremble on the edge of silence.
I think of how much misuse and abuse it has gone through, yet it defiantly thumps on, effortlessly powering my entire body.

I think of how both vixens and foxes gnaw at it when the scent of blood, the scent of affection, hits their noses. A scent that signals to them, yes, this one might appear stoic on the outside, but is as soft as cotton wool on the inside.
I think of how it has never known true untainted warmth; frost being its constant state.

The wishful me would love to believe that after many relentless misuses, it has learnt not to leap so easily at the vixen’s allure. Yet the realistic me knows full well that, just as it is in the frog’s nature to leap, so is the nature of this battered heart of mine. For it is both its weakness and its strength—a blessing and a curse.

The optimistic me would love to believe that it has finally found a set of tender and clawless hands that know to care for it, never harming it. Yet the pessimistic me fears the cruelty of fate, and the realistic me fears the distance in between and the uncertainty it brings. Yet it still hopes and longs all the same.

Oh my heart, have i wronged you by leaving you unshielded, despite the constant wounds you’ve endured?.. Am i still deserving of your strength after letting all these crows feast on your flesh? How you haven’t burnt to ashes, leaving me lifeless, remains a mystery to me. How you haven’t turned rock and declared yourself independent from me remains a mystery to me. How you still hope to receive the tender love the tulip might offer amazes me. How resilient and steadfast you are—enduring one turmoil after another, without stopping for any bruises until it's time to meet your Lord—inspires me

If it weren’t for the mercy of your creator, O heart, would you still be thumping so vigorously?