Daiyu used to say I didn’t know how to do anything gently. My love was violent. I threw my heart against unsuspecting acquaintances, trampled on it myself before they could pick it up off the ground, and when I stuck it back in my chest, torn, dirty, beating a little less madly than before, I didn’t even bother to wipe it off. It was a reckless, dangerous kind of love that hurt those I tried to care for as much as it hurt me.
