The heart is such a simple thing.
it’s just an organ, carrying blood.
It swells, it squeezes, and it performs its job as all parts of the body do. There is nothing magic or extraordinary...merely another function, nestled among so many others.
And logically, I know that the heart itself cannot feel.
It bears no thoughts,
expresses no emotions.
Logically, I know that it cannot move and twist and flip, cannot duck and dive, cannot jackrabbit around in what I also know, logically, to not really be a cavern in my chest.
I know this.
Of course I do.
But sometimes, when I hear a certain song...I still doubt.
Sometimes, as I slip headphones on before falling backwards into my bed, I still wonder.
Because for a moment, that steady beat is the only sound in my ears. And it rushes in my head and taps at my throat, pulses its way down my arms and thrums to the tips of my fingers as they deftly scroll to a particular tune.
I always expect to fall away, when the music begins. I expect to lose that awareness of my heart, of its constant rhythm.
And I’m always surprised when it stays ever-present, and merges with the melody instead.
a soft second drumbeat, right behind my sternum. Speeding and slowing in time with my baited breath. unsynchronized, yet still so connected to the symphony in my ears.
So connected that, instead of simply hearing the notes, I feel them. Coursing through me, like a rush of blood. A second set of veins pumping something much stronger.
And from my curling smile to my swirling stomach,
from my eyes shut tight, to the heart that I can feel moving so impossibly erratic in my chest, I realize that I was wrong.
Because it does move, Doesn’t it? I’ve never been more sure than I am now, overwhelmed with so much and so many emotions.
And I just.
Every sensation, I allow to wash through my body. from the thud of my heart mirroring the slam of piano keys, to the whoosh of blood rushing in my ears, blending somehow perfectly with the distant pound of the base.
The song begins to strengthen, building up, and my heart follows suit without a whisper of hesitation.
It grows, stretching itself, filling my chest to the brim, and floundering about when it runs out of space.
It almost hurts, as it begins tearing at the seams with something unexplainable. Tears prick at my eyes as it pushes, twists, curling in on itself before finally, finally bursting.
...It should hurt more, shouldn’t it?
My heart has grown wings.
They unfurl, and flutter curiously. Then flap.
And It tickles, I think in the back of my head. I can feel the feathers, light and airy and so warm.
dripping with all the emotions from before and more, unrestrained and wild and so beautiful.
The symphony peaks, a crescendo..
And my heart soars.
(Hearts are such complicated things.)