Compartments

Today I realized that the heart is compartmentalized. Of course, the biggest compartment is love.

Oh, unless we are discussing the anatomically correct heart - then no, no it's not love.

But the Valentine bullshit heart, the one that looks like two teardrops put together, that heart is filled with love. And really, whoever said the teardrop thing was probably trying to find beauty in heartache because I, personally, think it looks like the thing you sit on, and I'm not talking about a chair.

Ah, love. What is love (baby, don't hurt me)? See? I can't even ask a simple question without someone asking me not to hurt them. Why does everyone assume that I will hurt them? I'm not really that heartless, am I? Because if I feel bad when someone thinks I don't love them, that would mean I do love them and that would mean I have a heart because I have a compartment with love inside my body and that would be my heart.

Does my love have to shine? Or sparkle? Apparently, love sparkles in the 2K. I wasn't aware of that until they made a movie about it. But love isn't like it is in the movies, from what I've heard. You can't just squish someone into a compartment of your heart without thinking about whether or not they'll fit. Sure, they're immortal and perhaps have a good smile, but that doesn't mean that they'll fit into your compartment!

Be reasonable, your heart is only so big.

It'd be like shoving a round block into a triangular hole - it's not going to fit, sweetheart. And I mean that 'sweetheart' in the most condescending way possible. What would a sweet heart be filled with? Sugar? I would think that would cause diabetes. Pump you full of sugar until you die, that's not really what I had in mind for love.

Maybe love is worse for your health than sugar. I'd believe it. Love makes you all empty headed and makes you feel like Alien is going to pop out of your stomach and turn around and bite your head off.

I've heard people have died over love. Even back in Shakespeare times. But nowadays it happens just as much, apparently. Just without the balconies. And the puffy pants. And the sonnets. I'm sure there's a woman in the hospital being treated for attempted suicide over some boy. Maybe over some girl. That would be an interesting twist to her overly religious family, no? "Mom, dad - I'm a lesbian." I'd love to be there when she gets sent to the hospitals for domestic assault. All because God loves heterosexuals.

Maybe God's heart is different. Maybe he doesn't need compartments. Maybe we all fit into the same one. Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants? God loves us all, no matter what.

That's something I'd love to see; God coming down and giving everyone a kiss on the forehead and telling them that, no matter what, God loves them. And I mean love with all my heart.