My heart waits
in a cell of her own making;
a safe place to stay –
or so she thought –
until she was ready to receive
everything
from everyone
and no one
without withering into a dried-out prune.
But, instead of safely residing in that cell,
the dreaded withering
has already begun,
drying out her soft edges
and moving maniacally toward
the heart
of my heart.
Finally,
the alarm has sounded,
loud and clear,
and I’ve become willing to
enter into the depths
to break her out.