In Matters of the Heart

I have a heart. It's there. Really. Where is there? Like, deep, deep, deep inside me somewhere. Sigh. Here. Hold this magnifying glass. Wait. Forget the magnifying glass. Take this microscope. What? You don't have a dusty microscope lying around in your garage in a bin full of crap you may someday need? What's wrong with you?

I'm not avoiding the subject.

Did you find it? It's under layers, and layers, and layers of crap. I'm like a bed on laundry day with dozens of pants and sweatshirts that need to be hung, so just keep digging through the pile and I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for.

A-ha! Alas, you have found it.

Don't touch it! What the hell is wrong with you? You'll catch a flesh-eating disease and die a slow and horrible death! Like a zombie death! Horrendous fevers and flesh falling off in chunks! It's a thing. Really. No, that's not what happened to it. It's not infected with the zombie virus and I am not patient zero. I wish I were, though. I wish I could spare all the millions of people in the world the debilitating ache that comes with owning a heart.

Like every young heart, mine was a proud rose bush. The petals, a red velvet entrancing you to reach out and touch it. The stem, a prison type barbed wire fence whose sole purpose was to keep evil at bay. But they still managed to cut me down. I was placed in a clear glass of water so I thought I was being taken care of and set on the marble countertop. They just watched as I slowly withered away.

I saved what I could and hid it. I don't know why I shared my secret with you. Perhaps I'm just a little tired? Perhaps taking it out of hiding will force me to plant it in hopes it blooms once more. Or perhaps I just want your stupid curiosity to finish killing it off. Who knows?

But it's there. And I don't know what to do with it. Donate it to Good Will? They only take gently used items. Dust it off and let it see the light of day? The infected dust particles will spread like a fungus and contaminate the entire world. I won't be the cause of another 2020. I think I'll leave it where it is.

Yeah, I'll leave it.

When someone comes to me with matters of the heart because they are fooled and think the wrinkles around my eyes mean I'm wise, I will make myself available. No, I can't give advice on love, but I can show you my shriveled heart so you see I understand. I will sit with you in sweatpants, holding out an ice cream sundae smothered in hot fudge, and have a comedy movie marathon with you. Who cares if we periodically have to pause it so you can ugly cry? This old heart beats with yours now. We are sisters in matters of the heart.