“I had a dream I put my hands inside my chest and held my heart to try to keep it still.”
“I put my hand on my chest, a habit I never quite shook after losing my heart.”
“My heart feels not so much in my chest as in my hands. I am carrying it along swiftly, as though I have become the messenger for what is going on inside me.”
“The same thing that had happened with the flowers was happening with my longing: once I held it in my hands, I didn't know where to put it.”
“I've never really had much of an imagination. But still I would try to picture the exact moment when the beating of my heart would no longer be going on inside my head.”
“This is me trying, Perry,” he said softly, the anger being drained of his face. “This is me taking my heart out of my chest and putting the bloody mess in your hands. I can’t give you much more than that.”