The Complete Heart

He held his heart in his hands and gazed at it for the longest time.

It took strength to wrench one's heart right out of their chest - or perhaps cowardice, especially when he had wrenched it out to forget her; the one person who had occupied so much of his heart that he had forgotten what his life was like - a life without the constant presence of another.

It had taken him awhile to gather his thoughts for the focus. 

Some had warned him against, predicting that he would be even more vulnerable to the influences directly exerted on his heart.

He had shrugged and carried on.

It was a little price to pay for the loss of his memories. He held the silver shaft carefully in his hands, measuring the feel of it, feeling the weight. It was an interesting thought that he could throw his heart away so easily, now he had separated it from himself.

The thought seemed to be more appealing the more he thought about it.

What use was a heart anyway, save to feel - and true enough, while feelings were sometimes very, very enjoyable, he figured he could live without the additional inconvenience. Someone glanced towards him, realised in shock what he was about to do and screamed, the moment he let his heart release his through his fingers, and he turned around in shock and watched as the smooth shaft glided through the air almost.

And then she caught it. 

He almost froze, because everyone in the world knows that you only really entrust your heart to a chosen few, and you never ever give it to a stranger. And her face changed as she absorbed those very private parts of him, those very private moments that no one else should know. He cursed out loud at his carelessness, and then stopped.

Strange.

He felt complete.

And then their eyes met, and he realised what it meant.

Oh dear.