August 2011
i’d rather dance with you than talk with you …
… though it’s getting harder and harder to just dance.
The Games We Play with Flesh That Beats
my heart was a fickle thing, flesh and blood that beat to a tiny tune. my heart had always been a cautious thing, it was a wanton child that had long ago built itself a building of wood, a structure strong enough to keep the fragile flesh and delicate blood safe. my heart was a lonely thing, so around the building it built a playground for other hearts to come and play, it stood at the edge of the playground and called out to the other hearts.
few came, but those that did were enough. the hearts ran around the playground, slid down the slides and swung on swings. the other hearts often asked my heart about the building made of wood, why my heart often hid in there and why it would let no one come inside. but seeing as my heart was a fickle thing when questions like these arose it would hit the other hearts and declare, “tag! you’re it!” and run to the building of wood to hide. the other hearts often left then, retreating to other playgrounds finding other hearts to play with.
one day as my heart skipped rope alone another fickle heart appeared and moved in next door, flesh and blood that beat to a tiny tune. the other heart lived in a building made of wood surrounded by a playground too! my heart skipped over to the other heart and asked it to play, the other heart pulled out a game of chess and offered my heart a seat. the hearts made of flesh and blood that beat to a tiny tune played the game even though they were both new to it, they moved the pieces over the board as they listened to their shared tune, giggled over how the music seemed to echo one another making the sound gloriously loud.
but the cunning game soon came to a draw, there were no winners and there were no losers. the hearts parted ways, each off to their own building of wood. they often saw each other, being so close. sometimes the hearts would meet at their divide and hold hands and skip together, sometimes they played cards together, and sometimes they had there own guests in their own playgrounds and the two fickle hearts made of flesh and blood that beat to a tiny tune would wave to one another from afar.
my heart tried to play nice with the other hearts, she tried to remember how fun it used to be, but my fickle heart was sad, it missed the other fickle heart made of flesh and blood that beat to a tiny tune, it missed the echo, the gloriously loud sound. but my fickle heart was understanding, it knew the other fickle heart had games to learn, so she went in search of games of her own. the fickle hearts began to learn, to grow. they wanted to be the best they both could possibly be, wanted to make themselves worthy opponents. while on this journey they would meet other hearts, no tune like the one they shared, but amusing enough. the fickle hearts were happy, they grew and grew and felt safe, knowing they always had each other.
then one day the other fickle heart missed my heart, and decided to ask my heart for another game of chess. the two fickle heart made of flesh and blood that beat to a tiny tune skipped off together and sat at their divide to play the game, as the pieces where moved they both marveled at the tune, the sounds where louder, each thud and boom so gloriously loud that they were consumed by the music. my fickle heart tried to hide her wry smile as the tune blared only to find the other fickle heart trying to hide theirs too, they fell in love with the sound. the music to glorious to stop, the game of chess to cunning to call, the two hearts made of flesh and blood that beat to a now thunderous tune built a building made of steel around them, a structure strong enough to keep their fragile flesh and delicate blood safe, an immovable structure they had built together out of love.
