My Old Saved Chats

I was going through my old documents to clean up my laptop (I call him lappy and he calls me snooz or master or admin). I do that a lot I have a sort of OCD for keeping my laptop data organized. Anyway, I found records of old chats I had saved at one time in my life for all different reasons. Some because I liked what we were talking about, some because I was learning something new and some because they documented moments when I gained a new love or friend. It is shocking how much those good memories could bring joy or pain depending on when you are reading them. It’s funny how even if the words say are all the right things, they just hurt because they are saved proof of lies spoken or promises broken.

In a specific chat, I remember telling a friend how much I wished we were like computers. That all we have to do is scan our hearts and then press ‘heal’ and everything would be mended back and everything will be perfectly good again. I told him how when my friend said that all I need is a new view on love to change how I think about it I told him that it’s not like architecture; it’s not like I have the top view of the structure and all I need is the side view so I can see in in the proper light like a painting. But I do wish it is only i don’t think it is that simple. I tell him how damaged my heart is and how much I can’t experiment with it anymore, and he tells me that in life we are in a continuous state of experimentation, from the new ball pen i picked up earlier to the bakery down the road from my place. I tell him I don’t mind experimenting with life; it’s my heart I mind experimenting with. I guess i didn’t mind loving those pastries I picked up that day. But that is the thing with pastries. I loved them; I ate them, end of story. You can’t go around doing that to people, yet some people love you then destroy you end of story (I won’t say eat you that would just be inviting trouble).

That was a long time ago about two years ago I think, back then I was hurting. Before that I was un-comfortably numb and itching to feel again. I didn’t know what kind of blessing I was in but now I do. Now I’m just comfortably numb. I appreciate beauty and goodness from afar. You may say that I live on the margin of life instead of diving in this sea of conflicting interests and maliciousness intents of the heart. I say I’m only that way when it comes to matters of the heart. It might be a cowardly thing to do, but just this once I am willing to be a coward. I’m one of the bravest people you may ever meet when it comes to a million other things but if there is one thing I learned, it’s that a heart is physically a very small thing but stopping it emotionally is like stopping it physically, it cripples everything around it. The person shrivels and dies in all ways imaginable. If you want to murder someone without taking his heart, trick him into giving you his heart, play with it then throw it back at him. You don’t have to throw it away; the fingerprints you leave behind are enough to cripple him for a very long time after that.

Hearts freely given away tend to accumulate fingerprints of the people who handle them. You might have given you heart to someone new but the prints of his predecessors are still there and he may just be another pair of prints. Whoever is reading this; if I were you I’d make sure whoever is handling my heart has his gloves on. As for me, mittens are not my thing; boxing gloves are because I wouldn’t give my heart away again without putting up a good fight.