Matters of the heart.
Around one and a half years ago, my heart was wounded, again. Scars were fresh and bleeding, and I blinded myself from the pain by going out, having fun, basically throwing my life away. Then it kinda healed somewhat, courtesy of a 1.86 m giant who has since gone into hiding.
Then the scars faded, paled and almost disappeared, as it got used to the recovery process and started to settle down being solitary. Nothing much moves it any longer, none of those strings are even dangling low enough to be tugged. Tears were far and few in between, and mostly attributed to angst and anger.
I felt it again recently, my heart found something which could accelerate its pumping speed once more. Something in me began to rouse, and I could feel myself getting out of the emotionless rut that I'd been in for the past few months.
Then, it stopped. Like the cut on my pinky, painless, yet bleeding so profusely, drenching half of my palm in blood. It's almost comical how the pair of elderly couple actually looked at me as if I just committed murder. But I was too stunned to notice, just like how I was too stunned to react to the abrupt end. My fingers were shaking, my hands numb.
The sting only came when I could finally find water rinse the wound. The blood was gone, no more stains on my hands. All that was left was the fresh wound, where a slight force that pried it open will begin a fresh stream of blood.
But it is slowly healing. This is just a small cut. It will eventually heal, the blood will stop, and all that's left will only be the hint of bumpy skin to indicate its location.
I'm slowly easing back into the emotionless rut. When and who will come and tug on my strings again?
Labels: me, rants
