Heart Failure
‘Follow your heart’ advice commonly, recklessly, dispensed.
Being a hopeless romantic makes it difficult to do much else, after all, logic as we know it makes a mad dash for that proverbial window. A heart can, does, as it pleases, gives that euphoric sense, that dream state obtained without external stimuli. What then to do when it’s wrong, misleads you, when there is no sign that it will get you to the place you so long to go? Does the deeply embedded hope ever subside, or better yet, get flushed like deoxygenated blood?
Our bodies are adept at rejecting unwanted objects. A splinter has no chance of maintaining residency, continuing its role as an irritant. A virus. In relatively short order they are ejected, and dispensed with, all in the interest of the whole. These however are tangible, and identifiable. As is the heart, pumping away, 3 billion or so times in a lifetime, practical.
How then does it gain access, circumvent meticulously erected walls, negotiate the moat, and be allowed to infiltrate the core? Who gives it permission? It seeps in, and takes root, leaving no trace, no breadcrumbs to follow in order to extricate oneself. Tentacles envelop the organ and all that feeds her. Control was handed over, and blood was the conduit to all extremities.
The major flaw, it takes two, no guarantee it will permeate others with the same relentless, at times all-consuming, vigor yet, how wonderful it would be, two who share, whose every atom, pore, being, willingly accept the intrusion, welcoming it.
A dreamer? What then, are you?
