you will forever remain on your golden throne in my brain. with my heart in your left hand, and hers in the other. mine shall be rotted and blackened in your worn down hands, while hers is red and fruitful. you clench your left hand and my heart, like dust, slips through your fingers. you now have two hands for her heart, two hands to protect and admire her. all the while my remains lay in a pile at your feet, waiting to be swept up and put back together again like that old puzzle you never use that just sits in the corner of your closet. the grime collecting on the top has surely hidden all our ancient fingerprints from when we used to take it out on storm days, when the lightning ripped the sky in two and you just pulled me close and joked that i entered your life like that, in a shattering boom of shockingly beautiful light and illuminated the world. surely now your view on my storm-like being has been revised to the thunder aspect, just the first sign a storm is coming. a distant sound of agony, always just out of reach. over time, i gained the ability to look in the mirror with the knowledge of why storms are named after people.