Every cell in the body replaces itself every six to seven years, but does the same rule apply to the innermost parts of ourselves? To our organs and veins and blood staining us red. Does the same rule apply to those parts of ourselves that have never been touched? Can you exfoliate the outer layer of the heart? Peel away layers like the skin of an onion, as if each layer is a person we have loved. Is it possible that my brain will grow and neurons will die only to be replaced and in seven years I will have forgotten you?
I want to believe that it is. I want to believe that in six to seven years my body will be one that you have never touched, my hippocampus will be one that has never known you, my heart will be one that has never loved you.
But my heart is not an onion, it cannot be peeled layer by layer until it is merely a rotting vegetable. My heart is a grapefruit, divided into sections for each person I have loved, and you cannot take out one section and expect it to fill itself up again. Instead it will remain empty, a desperate memory of what once was.
And my brain is not a machine constantly replacing itself, or a computer that data can easily be deleted from. My brain is a pomegranate, with seeds spilling out and bursting open, staining the confines of my skull with memories of you.
In six to seven years my body will be fresh and new, but my heart and mind will still be tainted by you.