Here I have all my weaknesses, surrendered to you; my triumphs, sacrificed for you; the entirety of my faith, my soul, broken into shards for you; fluttering like butterflies with torn wings, trapped between these two shaking hands. Is that still not enough? What more do you want? What more do I have to offer? So I rip my heart from my body, falling to the floor in a sudden loss of strength.

It still pulses rapidly, violently, but in one beautiful piece, and I offer it to you in complete surrender. You scoff at its pathetic appearance. The heart of pure white marble is streaked with thin veins of gold, and shares no similarities with the young, frail hearts of red and indigo that you steal from weak children.

You smirk, knowing I can do no more, that I have nothing left to offer. Unable to control myself any longer, I begin to cry, opaque black fluid draining out of my chest cavity, my tear ducts, my ears, my nose. The liquid seeps into my mouth, and I begin to choke on your poison.

It diffuses into my clothing, staining it with your darkness, your hate, your threat of conformity, and I cannot breathe. Am I not enough like the others? Have I ever been? Was I never good enough? I cry harder, and the suffocating feeling wraps my entire body in a sudden flash of light.

Now I stand alone in this room, which is somehow not as dark as it was before, hearing water drip from a leaky faucet somewhere nearby. You have left me, I can tell. Your presence has completely vanished.

My chest aches, and when I look down, I realize that you have left a new heart in the previous one’s place. It seems less powerful, somehow; the energy emanating from it is hesitant and new, like a newborn fawn testing out his legs. It is larger, more round, beats more regularly, and it more perfect in every way possible.

I close my eyes and feel its pulse through my body. It is made of red and purple tones in transparent watercolor. Its appearance is extremely different from the one that used to occupy its place, but it is, after all, much closer to the norm. “I fit in now,” I whisper to my dim surroundings, but I wonder- was this the right choice? Has anything really changed?

Is my love still not good enough?

Is my heart still not red enough?