Give Me Back My Heart Please

. . . Steven! Steven it's me, Carla. I am not sure if you can even hear me but I am asking you, I am begging you. Can I have my heart back please?

Do you remember the night before you left? You took me to La Tasca, which had tables overlooking the Thames. We sat at a table outside and shared a large jug of Sangria. You were so attentive to everything I said, and you looked so handsome in the moonlight with your golden blonde hair and your piercing blue eyes.

We were one of the last to leave the bar. You took me back to your place and I followed you without hesitation as you led me upstairs. What a night we had, what a wild and wonderful night.

I was still sleeping when you got up to take a shower the next morning. I knew you had to leave early for the airport. When I did wake up I saw your suitcase, packed and in the corner of the bedroom all ready for your business trip. It was then that I did the deed.

While you were busy washing off the scent of me I removed my heart and placed it carefully in your suitcase. I put it at the back amongst your soft socks and smooth cotton boxer shorts. I should have told you, explained things to you but after last night, I assumed you already knew. Anyway, you said you were only going away for a few days, a week at the most. I thought I could live without my heart till then.

You kissed me so tenderly before you left, I felt sure my heart would be in safe hands.

It's been over two weeks now. You still have not returned from your business trip. Your office tells me that you have been appointed head of operations in the Far East and will be staying out there indefinitely. Now my body is stuck here in London and my heart is stuck over in Shanghai. At first, I could still feel it thumping strongly but as each day passes the beat gets weaker.

Steven can you hear me? Please, bring me back my heart, or very soon I will die.

—Liz Haigh