There was a layer of dust over her heart.

It sometimes surprised her, every time she felt it there. Every time she reached out and touched it, her fingers came away covered in a fine film of lovers past, and it took her off guard. She wasn't the type to hold onto them, she barely thought about them at all.

But the dust remained. Undisturbed for years, despite attempts, despite her own occasional proddings.

And then he came along and left fingerprints.