Her heart is made of strips of green, red, yellow – she was never a Rastafarian girl, and she'd loved Bob Marley, but not that much; it's just that he always wore that green, yellow an red, and his heart was made of those colors, and since he was in her heart, those colors were hers too, in a way.
Her heart is made of the chocolate mints that her dad loved, hide and seek and freckles, and the color gray. It is made of sunshine and castles and never-land and books.
Her heart is made of the boys she thinks she's loved – brown eyed boy, tainted and wanting of the world; a gray and silver one, years-too-old man who reminded her of crinkled tinsel. A blond, golden boy who spun webs around her, brought her to hm with his guitar; and a brunette who's drumbeat felt like her heart. A blond who's more washed out and in focus than ever.. They make her up, these boys.
Her heart is made of countless friends, past and present – the best friend from elementary school who she'd become a person she wasn't for, and who she'd never thought she'd loose until she did. The boy she wrestled and sang songs from musicals with until one day he left and came back changed, irrevocably and irreversibly, and she'd changed too, just enough that they're strangers. A girl who she is growing steadily apart from and another she is growing steadily together. Two boys and three girls who live far too far away. One girl – her best friend and wife and sister and mother and soul mate, all in one. A boy and a girl who'd shed told everything within the first two weeks of meeting them, and still doesn't regret it. A boy who was lost in a sea of brothers and sisters and too-big-families and never quite learned how to swim. They put her together and tear her apart and she will never forget.
Her heart is made of countless fights. They rage and scream in her head, thoughts of worthlessness and belonging and trust and love for no one. Fights between her mother and her, ending with a slap.
Her heart is made of so much. It is made. It's is made of everything.