An Open Letter from your Heart
Dear writers, poets, songwriters & romantics of all creeds and colours,
I, your Heart, feel that I need to make something abundantly clear to you:
I. Pump. Blood.
That’s it. I don’t ‘want’ anything. I never have. Speaking literally, the only thing I do is keep you alive- which, by the way, I feel like doing less and less every time you throw me under the bus for somehow, supposedly, compelling you to make your, shall we say, ‘questionable’ life decisions.
Is he/she The One? No idea.
Is this career path really your ‘true calling’? Beats me.
Can I take another crushing defeat from your favourite sports team? Yes. Yes, I can.
Look, as you know, the brain is a very powerful organ, but it is also a bit of a prick. That sounds harsh, but you do know whose job it actually is to answer all of the questions above, right? Not sure why I’m always footing the bill for your emotional folly, when there are whole sections of the brain that deal with this sort of thing- there’s your hypothalamus, your amygdala- oh hell, the bacteria in your gut will do more for your love life than I ever will.
I understand that you need an apt visual metaphor to illustrate your abstract concepts of ‘romance’ and ‘passion’. All I’m saying is, why me? What about the pancreas instead? The lungs? The gall bladder maybe? And speaking of illustrations: how about an accurate depiction of me on those Valentine’s Day cards for once? What’s so hard about drawing a couple of ventricles, maybe a vein or two?
Finally, I would really appreciate it if you would stop telling people I’m on your sleeve- that is patently false. While we’re at it, quit offering to ‘give me’ to that special someone- that won’t end well for you, I promise. And for God’s sake don’t tell people to eat me out- take that action down south, where it belongs.
Sincerely,
Your Heart
