The brain is finicky. Complex, volatile, constantly changing. The extent of human flaw — too easily shaped, yet when it grabs something and holds, it’s impossible to pull away. A sticky web of intertwined logic and fantasy, tinted by perspective. 

The heart beats tirelessly, oblivious, almost unfeeling. It never stops, never pauses for a breath, never sleeps. Almost machine-like, yet somehow it is wise to its world in a way the brain could never be. 

The brain is aware of the possibility of its demise. It struggles against its web, trying to find a way to disconnect from the very things that make it tangible. Instead, it only gets more caught up in the jumble of perceived notions. 

The heart knows nothing, as it seems, and still it beats on; or does it? Is it maybe that the heart knows more than the brain ever will purely because it does not wonder?