Someday you'll be giving your heart to someone new and run into left over shrapnel from my heart within the mass. You'll find threads from my delicately braided soul and think twice before brushing them away like the remnants of golden fur from petting the neighbor's dog. There's going to be someone new who is going to find traces of me everywhere, they will probably ask why you held on for so long. When they point out the lipstick on the sheets, the perfume that won't go away, and the sharpie on the wall surrounding your heart you'll look at them, sigh, and answer, "That's what first loves do to you. Even when it's puppy love or purely physical. Firsts always leave their mark." If they don't get it don't waste your time.
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