The last time Roland had given his heart to another he dropped it on the sidewalk, where it flopped about like a gasping fish, waiting for someone to pick it up. Nobody did. They just stood there, him and her and the squick, squick squick of a dying love heaving grotesquely on the gravel, both parties studiously ignoring its throes. Minutes passed like eternities.

She broke first - coughed into her hand, cracking the silence like a gunshot. Begrudgingly, he picked the heart up in his right hand, dusted it off on his overcoat. Grimacing at its state, he shook her left hand with his and walked abruptly away, letting the thump, thump thump mark his pace.

They can't all be epic tales.