The wizards in old tales used to bury their hearts in secret places and unless you dug up the heart and destroyed it they were invulnerable and heartless. Part of my heart is buried in People's Park. Part of my heart is buried in People's Park. Leave it alone. It's the part that will never be reasonable never grow up and know better and do worse.
Breathing is sweet to it and wild and scary.
It remembers meeting soldiers' bayonets with daffodils. It remembers tear gas drifting over swing sets. It will always be young. Leave it alone. Time passes and it doesn't always recognize me.