Hearts are funny things. Atriums, ventricles, arteries, all pumping blood, like a fist squeezing dough, or a slinky, bouncing to and from its master’s hand. But hearts also can weigh like a stone in a bone cage, sinking down into the sea. They can soar on flights finer than fancy. Hearts vacillate: they dance, weep, laugh, scream, dream, despair. Always beating, though- sometimes existing is enough. We should not be ruled by a mere mass of muscle, tinseled in tissue; we think we should be greater.
What is greater than the inexplicable emergence of ours hearts?