Step one: You slice across the skin of my chest with your blade. You're careful to stay on the marker drawn dotted lines. Much more careful and attentive than you've ever been with me.
Step two: You break through my breast bone easily without hesitation. After all, it's not the first part of me you've broken. And uncertainty and the state of being uncomfortable usually only come the first time someone tries something.
Step three: You take your hands and divide them over the surface area of my heart. You pause- or I do- I can't tell. Time has stopped. You haven't begun step four of your procedure but I can see it vividly behind closed eyes-your hands coming together-crushing my heart as we fall apart.
Instead your fingers find their way into a large crevasse - cracks in my heart aren't hard to find-the ironic part is that this same break was previously caused by you.
You split me open like a fragile geode- except there's nothing beautiful inside.