"You are hurting me," I scream, "You are hurting me - it hurts!"
"Are you sure," he asked as he hurt me more and more.
I cried. "You are hurting me - STOP - it is breaking!"
He just looked at my heart in his hands. It was bleeding. He had stabbed it with a knife. He stabbed it twice. And so on.
"Can't you see it? The blood?!" I was screaming and crying in horror.
"You let me touch it."
"Stop stabbing it! Just stop - I let you -"
"Why would you let me. You gave me your heart. You said it was mine. I love you."
I smiled. The hurting was over (he loved me). I gave him my heart yet again and closed his hand over it. The bleeding went on, but he was touching it, holding it, squeezing it. And so it bled more.

Then we went outside. There were people there. I looked up at him. He looked back and smiled - my heart was bleeding more - and more. And so on.

"Stop - I told you it hurts - it hurts!" I looked around - Didn't anyone see the blood? "Can someone help me?"

"I love you," he said. People heard.

As he stabbed my heart, people walked by. They smiled as they gazed on a couple in love. "Lucky you, " said someone. "He loves her, he loves her."

Again, he was squeezing my heart. It was bleeding. And so on. I cried as he hurt me, again and again. How much blood?

He hurt me - he hurt me. "I love you," but again he loved me. The stabs hardly mattered.

The heart only bled.

I considered how much he loved me. A lot. Less than the blood in my heart, I hoped very much. It hurt when he stabbed me. Where would I die?

(For I cannot leave him as long as he has my heart)