empty chest cavity

for my english 40S comp class. assignment was to choose a famous artists self portrait and write a short story from their point of view.
I chose Frida Kahlo.



There are two of me. The second one looks broken, but the heart loves her more. I'm tied to her, and the blood flows between us. I don't feel worthy of the heart and the heart does not love me either.

She feels broken. The second me looks onward to a place I have yet to see or find. The second me knows and sees things that I don't, and she tells me stories of love and horror.

In the night I hear her breathing as she sleeps, I can tell it's not peaceful.

When she awakens she tells me of how she doesn't want the heart. She tells me that I should have the heart because she is not real. If she got rid of the heart my life would end as well as hers. I need her to continue. Her heart is what my body needs, even if it doesn't live within me.

The hole in my chest where the heart once was is dried up and dead. My body doesn't want the heart even though my soul longs for it. There will always be room for my heart if it ever loves me again.

My soul longs for nothing more than it's own heart and it's own love.