He sent a heart through the post, confessing his love to me. At first I was aghast, but then I found it to be rather sweet, even if the pig heart was starting to stink.

I wrote him back with an illustration of a heart, saying that I could draw one but could never give him mine. I hoped he wouldn’t send a horse’s head in disgust.

He turned up at my door demanding the heart back. I told him I’d already binned it and studied him crawling through the trash.

I returned to my room and watched it beat.


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