IMAGES that stick in my mind's eye like band aids for wounds of old times and past tense.
Two. A juicy red heart punctured through by modern Cupid's arrow, a silver rod with a pointy, heart-shaped tip, slim and stylish and shiny-attractive-to-ravens. And the arrow has been bent when it comes out on the other side.
Our hearts were getting harder and getting blood from them, love from them, was like begging from a stone. And now even when that lovely fluttery feeling in the pits of our stomachs called love is bestowed onto our doorsteps where it slouches and patiently waits out the night of your ignorance to the sound of it knocking. Knock-knocking on the door punctured in your heart.
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