I would prefer to break my own heart, thank you very much.
I will happily take it in my own palms and rip heedlessly at the ventricles, rather than relinquish it to you before I can prepare.
I am less a fearless martyr flinging herself in front of a bulldozer than an arrogant ship captain who retreats to the cabin with a gun because he cannot stand to be remembered as one who was captured by the enemy.
Hearts may shatter but they also meld back together in the chest, slowly. Sometimes quickly.
I know I can survive the injuries of my own hands.
Only the day when you stand there and open up my ribcage without my permission will be frightening.
That will be the day I see control slip through my fingers.
Only then will I realize I have been holding myself too tightly all along.