The heart that grew

When we dated, his heart's mouth was slightly open
like an asthmatic. Overwhelmed by love, for it didn't know

what it felt like. It kept over-thinking what we had.
I told him exactly why I couldn't make it to dinner ⁠—

my fingers had grown abnormally large overnight.
Side-effects of his overwhelming doses of love.

I didn't want anyone to see me this way. I needed
space, I needed time to recover. He ended up with

the ring in his drink, his heart swallowed it in one gulp.
Ten years later, his heart has grown abnormally large, cushioning the ring, pushing through his rib cage

for people to gawk. Strangers stop him to ask:
Who did this to you? He tells them everything.