said
the Tinman to
Dorothy
Gale after
resurrecting
from his
rusted
prison.
A
heart is needed to live,
to
pump blood through
veins,
spread nutrients
throughout
the body,
but
when it comes down to it,
why
are hearts so fragile,
so
easily broken?
And
why would a man
made
of tin want to
suffer
so much like a human,
to
be further conquered by emotions
and
to cry until rusting solid,
forcing
himself into solitude
again
and again?
Instead,
he should ask for
a
mind like the Scarecrow,
a
place for prayer and patience
to
keep feelings controlled…
But
then…
where
would
desired
love
thrive?
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