Some hearts are water:
they cannot be held.
They run over, spill out,
and you are left with wet hands.
Some hearts are deer:
they are skittish.
They must be loved gently,
and from a distance.
Some hearts are fire:
they warm you in the night.
But they will burn your fingertips
if you reach too far.
Some hearts are sand:
a million moments in one castle,
entirely vulnerable
to your changing tides.
Some hearts are stone:
You can hold them,
and they may warm,
but they are difficult to change.
Some hearts are wind:
you will feel them surround you,
but you will never hold them,
nor will they warm you.
My heart is softwood:
warm, and impressionable.
Your name is carved
alongside mine.
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