Today on the ground, I found a heart: a huge, bruised petal in the shadow of a discarded crisp packet. It was an artist's heart, pale pink and shapely. Not a biologist's mangled potato. It looked delicate. An afternoon of rain and footsteps would have pressed it closer to the pavement, making it look like a chalk sketch. It would colour all over; the blanket bruising would make it seem as though it hadn't bruised at all.
Hearts are so good at perception-tricks.
I took a photo of it. It came out wrong, yellowish in tone, the heart looking host-thin and ghost-pale. I was getting some strange looks, so I didn't try again. I kept it, though.
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