We sat in your car outside my parent’s house and even though it had only been 6 weeks I felt as though I might explode if I kept my love for you inside me.  I handed you my heart and you took it. You looked it over much like a little brother looks at a functional pair of socks given to him on Christmas morning. You turned it over in your hands, trying to comprehend its value.  “Thank you,” you finally replied out of obligation, much like the little brother.  I hoped that you would give me your heart in return, but instead you did just as I knew you would and kept it for yourself. You kept mine for exactly a month and then in the same car, in the same parking lot where you first kissed me, you took my heart out of your pocket and held it up in front of my face. It made me wish immediately that I would have kept it for myself, I hated Brene Brown for convincing me to be vulnerable. You talked about why you wanted to accept my gift but couldn’t bring yourself to then you ripped it right down the middle. “No hard feelings,” you said as you handed the pieces back to me. I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement so I nodded, holding back my tears. You were right though, if it was a statement and if it was a question the answer is no, there are no hard feelings, no bitterness or resentment, no hostility or anger. Just understanding. Understanding that receiving a heart is a massive responsibility. A heart has to be cared for and nurtured. You have to take it everywhere you go and protect it fiercely. Holding a heart is a responsibility too vast for a twenty-one-year-old little boy to undertake. So even though accepting returns is generally against my policy and although you returned my heart without a receipt I’ll take it back because I need someone who is ready for the responsibility of holding it.