JS I

For you, my heart, ripped from my chest. Eviscerated, I am. And if I could, I would plunge my fingers through my chest and rip out my heart and give it to you. A pulpy mass of morbid diathesis. In addition to my heart, there are some small organs that want to give you: glands, sweetbreads, variety meats. I'm offering these gifts. Rare gifts. I know that they don't amount to much in the face of what you've given me. I've heard these organs can't survive outside the body for more than a few hours. But I'll try to get there as soon as I can. Whatever happens, it will be on me. On my heart.