A Heart's Monologue

On a stormy night, I was taking a walk in the park. A lightning bolt chose me as its medium to poke the ground. It could have split me vertically, incinerated every organ in my body, burnt me to a crisp but instead it decided to free my heart from the clutches of the man upstairs, my brain. The jailor was M.I.A. now, thoughts were dismissed from administration, a new found freedom unleashed a flood of emotions that had been under lock and key. As is the nature of water rushing down stream to envelope all that it can consume, the monologue will first devour then will settle in, to establish peace and lay out a way for serenity to take root.

~ Heart ~

 Unleashed - Unhinged - Unhindered - Uninhibited - Unapologetic - Unfiltered

I am not a toddler who begins cooing, moves to cawing, utters incoherent syllables, vocalizes random words, forms sentences, turns into an adult who loses touch with his/her core and becomes a socially accepted replica of self. I have never gone through these stages for i was always treated as a mute , under the anarchy of the brain, presumed dumb. I don't run on thoughts, i run on emotions. I feel, i convey. I am a simple muscle with simplistic duties and life. My voice is muffled on most occasions and even i agree the brain does it with the noblest of intentions, with the best interest of my host at the core but sometimes the best intentions are not the right choices. Today fate has broken my shackles and give me a voice loud enough to reach you. I fully intend to make this miracle count.

I pulsate to facilitate the dispersion of rejuvenating vital oxygen. I pulsate to infuse love into my host. I am hard wired to give away all that i hold conditionally as long as i keep receiving. Philosophers spout nonsensical stuff from their brains that sound true but lack emotional footing and say love is a one directionally flowing entity, well your heart disagrees and so do I. Response, reciprocation, return and reflection of emotions is what allows me to function relentlessly. Filtering and judging the intent, integrity and intensity of what gets sent to me is not in my nature. I ache when i falter, when i fall, when i make a mistake. Someone did say to err is Human and i am just being a devoted part of the whole. But i never give up, never lose hope for the day i do my host ceases to exist and that can only be at the end. I am built to walk, to pace, to strut, to jog, to sprint, to run not just for my host's physical actions but to respond to that special being whose absence maybe lethal to his existence.

Strength that i display cannot be measured, understood, calculated, calibrated, scaled or contained, it can only be perceived by another heart willing to share the space and time. The enormity of effort put into supporting another ailing heart is lost in the pleasure of alleviating another. But pain like energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it can only be shared and broken into smaller pieces that can be ruminated and digested at leisure. I have endured tremendous courses of buffets endangering the entire process itself. Servicing is over due and the red signs are blaring away sounding irking alarms.

Always on the hunt for the sympathetic heart to lean on, to share with and to flourish alongside, my strength needs replenishing and the hunt has been more of a burden than a relief. Scars run deep , some crisscross as pain from the ailing heart and pain created by the ailing heart mingle. Imagine breathing under a few tonnes of cotton smothering your body. Cotton is soft, smooth, soothing and bliss but when it becomes painfully heavy you run out of things to do, routes to take.

Limitless tales of heart-ache come to me but it would be too much of a depressing narrative even for me. Will tell you of the most significant of them for a slightly altered version of this has/has been/is happening with you, listen closely and your heart will agree. My host laid eyes first, the bastard is the cause for most of my suffering and joy, ages ago with the brain barely registering the perfect mate in the hale of all that was visible to the eye. I screamed my throat away , urged my host to take notice, run after and embrace tranquility that was just a hand's reach away but who wants to lend an ear to the mute. 

Time, a best friend who obliterates the need to have any enemies, passed over. My overload, brain, finally did take notice, take out his check list of personality traits, qualities, habits, conditions and clauses. After a thorough analysis and re-runs decide that in the best interest of my host the idea was bad or too difficult or too risky or too complicated to pursue. I expressed my deepest opposition to the decision, i fret, i flutter, i fluster but my lord decided it was time to move on to a greener pasture. Time yet again, this time truly playing the role of my best friend, managed to sway my liege to take my plea seriously. A communication with the soul-mate was established, the connect thrived, flourished and bloomed. But spring was too short and uncooperative to allow the buds to bloom to a full. The bud shriveled out  under a relentless onslaught of colluding third party evil spawn who had vested interest in the life and choices of the mate. The mate's ruling brain was coerced into enraging and then subsequently disengaging all ties. All that is left now is a longing for a ghost connection that was too good to be erased or forgotten, too distant to be salvaged, too hopeless to be optimistic and the end too bad to be forgiven or to retry.

After the multitude of hits i have endured, i remain stubborn , foolishly optimistic and ideally romantic, wishing for a indistinguishably entwined harmonious synchronous heart. I continue to pester the most likable, love n all its verb forms being too cliched and most times wrongly over used words in any language, heart with all the care and attention that i can muster. Waves of anguish threaten to through me overboard into the pits of despair. I cling to the prow of the life boat with memories of the bygone mates, looking out for the land of dreams as an aspiration for posterity.