My Heart

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Dear Heart,

I must confess: I thought it would be easy, writing a letter to you. I'm a romantic. I think about you all the time. Yet here I sit, Stuck.

By your range of emotion. I soon learned that the lowest lows cause the highest highs.

By your faith. In the kindness of others, in the existence of love. Together, we hold to our belief that we will find what we seek.

I couldn't live this life without you, Heart.

And I guess that's what this letter should really be about: The number of times I've wondered if I could. The number of times I've imagined a light switch on my heart, and almost wished I could switch it to "off."

If only I didn't long for love, for connection. If only I could be a machine. No loneliness. No pain.

If only I could be even more of a work horse. Never stopping for a date. Never desiring to share my life with another. Never needing to spend the time that that necessarily calls for.

If only that entire aspect of my life would just go away, why, I'd have so much more time! And no sadness to slow me down.

What a gift you are, my Heart. For the ability to truly connect with others, for my empathy, for my very emotional stamina, comes from you. The best of me.
My favorite flaws come from you, too. Every time I fell too fast, too hard into love. Every time I gave something or someone one too many dates, or one too many months. A second chance. A third. Too much hope? I'll take it.

Along with the lessons learned.

For you, my Heart, is a risk taker. Together we walk the fine line between brave and stupid, with something at least slightly related to self-confidence.
We have sharpened the art of taking constructive criticism. We insist on expecting the best from people first.

And my Heart, you and I have mastered the skill of dusting ourselves off and picking ourselves up.

I feel guilty when I think about the light switch. When I wish I could turn you off and be done with you. When my mind betrays you, my Heart.

Thankfully, you beat too strong for thoughts like that to be anything but fleeting.

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