Lui élargir, we only take so much before spilling

I've recently unearthed a new meaning for the word limit after sessions and sessions of guided conversations with my chosen squire. 

My chest is composed with an elastic heart and beats-me-down rates that races once in a while - I felt chaperoned by the elasticity of the said heart in confrontations I had to lui-élargir to avoid catastrophic explosions.

Once enlarged, strained to the (then) limitations, it does not return to its previous point. It needs a force to grow it large and keep it large. Force which should come from the source of the expansion in the first place, but it rarely did. 

"Dealt with"

I've lost count of how many times this little devilish sentence played in my head on repeat, being found on shuffle, being paused, being a-b(ed), in an eternal loop of lucidity and craziness.

Dealing with the expansion of my heart to fit you in with the carry-on baggage made of boys, careless actions and disrespect lacked understanding and affection towards it. It was dealt with, for sure, but with rather severe consequences.

Heart, little hearty heart, what should one do to re-expand it to its newest (yet not asked for) limitations so it doesn't sag? Too late. It's saggy. I have now a saggy heart. Undealt with, though. 

I detest the word trigger. Had it not been so overly used in the past couple years it would have a different tone to me. But I do not know what word could fiercely replace the one that characterize the disater of an emotion ready to explode so well. 

I have my triggers. They're ready to shoot. 

I had a target before but I came to terms with the fact that's retaliation and I'm not for it. I'd rather learn from the bullet taking care of the wound. But it takes deep breaths and isolations.