The heart is a vital organ, a symbol of meaning, a shelter for hiding, a cloud of comfort, a home for peace, a pool of sadness and a punch from heartache. The heart is a drainage system, we all pose weaker with age, some quicker, a dam built between our pumping veins.
The heart is an empty room, the heart is anonymous, it is unknown. The heart is anyone and anywhere you want it to be. The heart travels, even when you don’t. The heart is a playground, a swing, a slide. The heart plays with your flesh, vulnerable.
The heart is your closet, a conscience of secrets and fears. It lingers till you choose to shed light through a punctured window. The heart is a time machine, it is filled with people and memories. The good; the evil, mistakes; lessons, the ones gained, and the ones lost. The heart is a sponge made of tiny holes, and in every hole, a different name, a different place.
A strange vacuum claiming no definition.