a masochists memoir

I took the pieces of my broken heart, the ones that I'd put away into the most metaphorical box you could think of - one that couldn't be opened. 

I thought that I could believe you, so, I took those pieces and started to string them like little beads. I was starting to grow bulbils, thinking that something was healthy and starting to grow. 

instead, winter arrived but you, you did not. I said more than I should have. I should have kept them in the box. now they're all crumbling and I'm going to have to start again - but will I?