To My Rapscallion Heart

Yes, you aren’t very bright. Right now you feel anguished and foolish and a lot of -ish, in general.

Luckily for you, damned heart, I don’t keep you around for your analytic abilities. That’s what the brain is for. You don’t need to be witty, or snarky, or distrustful. You just need to keep me honest. Connected. Pumping blood to my extremities. Warm.

Hindsight is a swift kick to the groin, fair heart–Sometimes with an additional twist… maybe some stabbing sensations… *Pfft* You don’t need your reproductive organs anyway.

It’s okay to drop to your knees, tearful eyes raised to the heavens in lament.  To curl up, as dense and tiny as possible. To build up the energy to explode forth, taking no prisoners. You do you, heart. Feel the fuck out of things.

Love is pain. Love is bullshit.

Love is a lot of things.

but… for you…

Love is also an adventure. A late-night, drunken romp through the wilderness. Sure, you may wake to bumps and bruises and confusion, but… You really had a blast. The ill-effects are temporary, and it will make for an excellent story.

Love is an inside joke. Sideways glances, and lip twitches, and muffled giggles. Obscure innuendos, smirks, and arousing suspicion in those who aren’t in on it. Unashamed, but subtle, as you don’t have the desire or need to justify it to anyone. Fuck them.

Yes, Rapscallion Heart. The brain and I may roll our eyes. We may think you’re crazy, and a tad lacking in the sensibility department, but without you, life would be simply lackluster.

So, you do you.

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