A Moment For Impulsive Writing

In my eyes, you are just a long-dead spirit,
chasing after my heart like you once did before...
until you cast it into the frozen ocean where it became
glass and it cracked in a thousand places.
It took what seems to be a lifetime to retrieve it and
when I did, it needed much mending. And just as
I was beginning to think that the last crack had been
filled, you ripped it from my chest once more
and decided to call it your own. I seem to contradict
myself in saying that you are still chasing after my
heart when you have already come into possession
of it, but when I say this, I mean that you can never
control it again, for it is mine to give away. Now, Spirit,
though I wish to send you away on the same
journey that I had to endure when you cast me away, but I,
unlike you, have compassion. I am going to let you wallow in your own loss and self-pity. May you forever rot in it.