The heart inside me was dying, so they put a plastic one inside instead. It won’t last me very long, so you see I shall soon be dead. I can’t remember what I’ve got, the illness that killed my heart, I know I really ought to know, but I don’t, to be blunt.

My sister has a heart, so does my brother and my father and my mother. It’s just me who’s got a robot inside my chest. Most people have real hearts, and I am jelous of them.

I hate Valentine’s Day. Not for the reason most people do. I hate to see so many hearts around. They remind me that I haven’t got a heart. They are so red and pretty, and mine is plastic white and ugly. When people say ‘I give you all my heart’ I want to cry, because I have no heart to give! Should I fall in love, should I want to give my heart away, I couldn’t!

My heart died and was ripped out of me by a surgeon’s knife and placed neatly on a metal table. It must have felt naked and lonely too, for it was alone without me. Not once had we been separated, until that ugly moment. I want it back inside my chest, where it belongs; I want it to rest again against the rest of me, to beat again within me.

But no. My heart is gone and gone for good. Never again shall we see each other. I don’t know what they did with it. I think they blamed it for being ill. They never understood it couldn’t help being sick, it didn’t want to die!

When people ask me how I feel. I have no answer for them. It is almost rude how they ask, I am offended. It is as though they are insulting me. For how can I feel without a heart? I have only metal and plastic inside my chest, nothing real, only fake.

I have to wait until another dies, so I can take their heart. I think it would feel like stealing, to have another’s heart inside me. I don’t really want someone else’s heart. But, you see, it is the only way I can live. I think I could get to know another person’s heart, overtime.

But it would never be the same. It could never replace my heart, that sickly little thing.