The Shape of My Heart

The shape of my heart is a square, like the sun when you don’t wear your
glasses, if you could even look at it, that is. It is square because you love the sun and
you love how it looks so pixelated, like something a child would draw or something
you would see in an old video. It is square because we met in the City Square, where
you told me fair and square that squares have nothing to do with the square root of
numbers and that’s dumb, and I laughed.
The shape of my heart is a circle, like the ring I would like to one day put on
your finger, but you don’t know it yet. It is a circle because you have this weird
obsession with being able to draw circles perfectly by hand, and you’re pretty good at
it and that is impressive. Because a circle is a mystery – because you always say
that after you draw your “perfect circles”, you can’t tell anymore when they start or
when they end. Like my love for you, that I subtly confessed multiple times, and you
laughed.
The shape of my heart is a cube, because you have a box that you keep all
your memories in – you’re more old-fashioned and you like to keep things physically,
so that you can touch them and feel they’re part of your history. It is a cube because
pictures of me and you and poems I wrote for you made it into that cube box of yours
and I felt like a grandfather hearing his grandson say his first word: “Grandpa”.
Because you love children and want to have grandchildren and when I said I did too,
you laughed.
The shape of my heart is a triangle, because you love how edgy and pointy a
triangle is, you say it looks like three fingernails, but not just any fingernails, like my
thumb nail that I let grow longer so that I can play guitar with it. It is a triangle
because you love my songs and you say that when I play to you, the whole world
disappears and all you hear and feel in your pores is my love song. And because
when I’m done you come and make yourself small against my chest, like a child
feeling, safe, happy and protected, but I feel you’re not just a child, but only felt the
purest happiness when I kissed you on the top of your head and promised you cliché
things. And you cried of happiness and you told me to stop promising and I kept
going, and you laughed.
Frankly, I don’t even care what the shape of my heart is; it is like water, it
takes the form of the place you put it in and as you know, where I put my heart is
you. So the shape of my heart, I could say, is really, a short girl with brown almond-
shaped eyes and red lips like she’s constantly biting them and spreading the blood
on them, with blonde dyed hair, because she looked beautiful even before she dyed
it, but she didn’t know because there was no one to tell her, with a heart that can’t fit
her small body, and dreams the size of a pregnant female elephant and the maturity
of an innocent baby.
The shape of my heart is you.