Dearest Heart,
So many have belted out lists of songs for you and your condition, so many more have bled along with your beat, and the rest have just had an attack. As for me, I remember my Class IX exhibition in which our group had done a live demonstration of a goat's heart. I was not particularly keen to open that little thing in and out, and the now-Vet took it up willingly. I was also quite bored of repeating the same procedure over and over again, so I had just been the passive member of the group, just watching you, and taking notes on feedback and doing random useless errands.
Do you remember those endless conversations I had with you in those silent stares? Do you remember the confessions I made and the stories I told you? The many plans of life I could never muster the courage to tell anyone else in those two days and the excitement on returning from someone else's experiment? I remember. And I also have not forgotten how you helplessly kept listening. Even as you frayed out and SB regularly moistened you, you looked at me and kept listening. You were so bored of SB showing off your four chambers.
Thank you, heart. Ever since, I have held you in high regard. And thought that all my happiness and tears, desires and fears rest in those chambers. Till about early this year. I am sorry but I came to believe that you are just a pumping organ, and all those essentialist matters of love and belief rest solely in the mind. I feel bad for you, and how your image and brand value deteriorated and how I made myself be consumed by that new learning. I paid mind more attention and there is nothing to substitute the new conviction.
However, this letter is to allude to the aspect that even though you are just a pumping organ, you still get this letter while I don't get any. I have written several letters over a short span of time, and headlessly I feel that they reach and are read by the addressee. I, on the other hand, neither receive nor get a reply. Now tell me dear heart, who won? The head that felt or the heart which had none?
Within and without,
K.
So many have belted out lists of songs for you and your condition, so many more have bled along with your beat, and the rest have just had an attack. As for me, I remember my Class IX exhibition in which our group had done a live demonstration of a goat's heart. I was not particularly keen to open that little thing in and out, and the now-Vet took it up willingly. I was also quite bored of repeating the same procedure over and over again, so I had just been the passive member of the group, just watching you, and taking notes on feedback and doing random useless errands.
Do you remember those endless conversations I had with you in those silent stares? Do you remember the confessions I made and the stories I told you? The many plans of life I could never muster the courage to tell anyone else in those two days and the excitement on returning from someone else's experiment? I remember. And I also have not forgotten how you helplessly kept listening. Even as you frayed out and SB regularly moistened you, you looked at me and kept listening. You were so bored of SB showing off your four chambers.
Thank you, heart. Ever since, I have held you in high regard. And thought that all my happiness and tears, desires and fears rest in those chambers. Till about early this year. I am sorry but I came to believe that you are just a pumping organ, and all those essentialist matters of love and belief rest solely in the mind. I feel bad for you, and how your image and brand value deteriorated and how I made myself be consumed by that new learning. I paid mind more attention and there is nothing to substitute the new conviction.
However, this letter is to allude to the aspect that even though you are just a pumping organ, you still get this letter while I don't get any. I have written several letters over a short span of time, and headlessly I feel that they reach and are read by the addressee. I, on the other hand, neither receive nor get a reply. Now tell me dear heart, who won? The head that felt or the heart which had none?
Within and without,
K.
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2 comments:
Of course heart won !
While reading this one of my fav numbers : tony braxton 's " unbreak my heart ...." .
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