strange coincidence

Heart

A heart
can only be a heart
if it knows
how to maintain
the blood that lives to it
and let go
of the same fluid
when needed
or when it is ineffective.

Anytime.

It must accept that
it can never keep
anything
that enters into its
walls perpetually.

-written last Feb. 14, 2007 (2:24pm)

I made this poem last year, on the month of February. Well, I just made it up for the sake of flowing along with the whimsicalities of the season, the sweet-nonsense flittering in the air. That was it—no more, no less. It must be the loss of the “advantage” of not having someone to celebrate the date with that I suddenly came up with this poem but, nevertheless, it was a fair work. But upon further studying this work today, as I stumbled on this old post when I scanned this blog, I just realized I must be a seer. Right now, I have to fully internalize that the heart “can never keep anything that enters into its walls perpetually.”

Yes, I do believe that pain is inevitable and misery is only optional but how do you determine which is which when everything in you is so blurred? As of the moment, I am still looking forward to that day when smiles are supposedly meant to be used for its appropriate purpose. Advance Valentines, everyone.

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