This modern heart attack.

February 12, 2008 · Filed under Uncategorized

Murder, love, heartbreak, war…they all coincide at some point. We hit this metaphorical wall where our entire lives are wrapped up in other people. Love and destruction drive us, and we fall for our enemies in a constant battle with our own hearts. In the end, it’s all murder. Love, heartbreak, war…everything is just murder. We all die a little faster, and give up a little sooner every time we experience these things. I’m convinced that emotionally, love and heartbreak are on the same wavelengths. Just as much as your whole body feels love, in the same capacity it feels heartbreak. Frankly, they feel the same. It’s a hard, dark moment that takes over everything you are, regardless of whether or not it’s the promise of love or the bitter spoils of broken hearts. These emotions, whether your value them in the highest, or place them as the least of your concerns, are both diseases people spend their entire lives running from. There is no cure, there is no anecdote, there’s just the searing pain that comes with loving someone with everything you have in you, and the same searing pain we battle the minute our heart understands the capacity it has to break. You know those moments when you can feel your heart right inside your chest? Like its right there, an organ you can manipulate and change. As if you have some sort of control over your heart. Not so much the steady beats that pump life into the rest of your extremities, but more or less the heartache or joy that everyone feels. Much like your legs are not simply modes of transportation, but feet and knees that bruise and scar, you could really feel this too. There it was, pumping absentmindedly inside your chest, and you could really feel the hurt that was left there from all the times you got it wrong. Almost as though you could rip open your ribcage and pull out a vessel built purely on emotion, biological function aside. Attempts at self preservation through personal consolation was never a healing remedy, instead its a round-about way of affirming the fact something really is wrong. Thinking of someone else’s heart worsens the thumping hurt, its just a reminder that they feel nothing. So there you are, battling this pumping organ spreading life past your once numb soul and working as a catalyst for this new hurt. A hurt that you try so hard to mask in the triumph of a new hope. Nonetheless, this new hope, albeit a warming placebo, may be the next hit that spirals into further lifetimes of addiction. This addiction is our love and heartbreak, this pain is our lives…this empty room, a kamikaze solider prepared for battle, is our heart.