Posted: Saturday, February 18, 2012 7:12:49 AM
What makes the heart so special? It’s just one small organ in the human body; a little clump of constantly thumping mass. Yet supposedly, somehow, everything meaningful in life—the deepest emotions and the greatest possible feelings—all stem from the tiny red ball that simply sits in the human chest. Why would we ever trust this thumping orb, this crazy little red organ, to ever give us love?
Because my heart will keep beating every second, expanding to it’s fullest with an echoing thump, and then shrinking to it’s tiniest like a dwindling red balloon. It will beat on relentlessly, never slowing down, never tiring out, and never, ever, giving up. It will remain untroubled by the scathing storms of romance and the torpedoes of naivety; constantly wrestling with crumbling mountains of memories while streaming heart-wrenching nostalgia through my veins. It will march bravely towards the battlefield of love, on the front lines, and it will never wave the white flag. My heart will be yanked and strained, twisting and contorting like a soaking wet towel trying it’s very hardest to get dry. It will face my fears whether or not I ask it to. When my lungs are empty and I gasp for air, it will be there, pumping oxygen through my bloodstream until I can finally take another step, and move on. Like a speed racer in a blazing red race car, my hot wheel heart will beat—beat all its competitors and opponents who think they’re so cool in their flashy automobiles. And when the wind picks up, and there are gusts up to 40 and small craft warnings, my heart will fearlessly rig up her sails and glide away into the crashing waves, sailing off into the never-ending expanse of horizon. Thump, thump, thump, my heart will crawl deep into a cave of misery, girls’ nights out, hot fudge sundaes and romantic comedies, and rescue me from the dark bottomless pit of break-ups. Like flailing arms hitting a wine glass off a table, I’ll be pushed over the edge and I’ll break into little pieces that sparkle on the ground like deserted remnants of a crystal glass. But my heart will always put me back together. When I can’t hit the egg whites any longer, it will keep beating. My heart, the small, shiny organ that hovers in my chest like a pearl in a clam, will never, ever seize. My heart will keep beating.
Until somebody makes it stop.