“do you ever get tired of fixing hearts?” i said, in a playful tone.
his eyes flickered toward me, as he lifted his eyebrows. “what do you mean?”
“you fix them all day and all night,” i stated softly, “don’t you ever get tired of seeing how fragile they are?”
he chuckled, though it was a quiet, reflective sound. “i’m not fixing them,” he replied, “i’m simply reminding them how to beat again.”
the way he uttered those words, without a doubt and pause, made my pulse falter.
he glanced down at his long iced black coffee once more; however, the softness of his tone had changed to be gentler, as if he were speaking more to himself than to me. “you know, the heart is very strange indeed. it’s all muscle, yet it bruises much faster than bone.”
i stared at him, attempting not to allow my chest to tighten. “perhaps this is why people continually break it,” i said again in a playful tone.
he smiled weakly — a tired type of smile. “or perhaps it simply forgets it can repair itself.”
a silence followed — it wasn’t heavy, it was simply alive. i could almost hear the echo of his words within the rhythm of my own heart — it was fast and irregular like i’m experiencing an arrhythmia.
he took my hand and held it. he always does this when he can feel that something is bothering me. he leaned in and started breathing deeply through my hair, slowly brushing it. i couldn’t believe that in that moment, i felt an irregular heartbeat within my chest — not the type that can be documented or treated by a doctor; just the type that lets you know you are in trouble.
he previously stated to me that the heart dislikes unpredictability — it thrives on rhythm, on consistency. i wondered what he’d say if he realized my heartbeat hasn’t been stable since the day i met him.
perhaps he’d display that same subtle smile he often wore, the one that concealed more than it revealed, and say again to me, “that’s how it begins.”
and i would have believed him — because he sounded like someone who has heard thousands of broken hearts, and still believes in the sound they produce when they begin to beat again.
he is completely unaware. it’s funny because he does not understand that it’s him — he is the reason that reminded my heart how to start beating and feeling alive again. i am scared. i am frightened. i am incredibly petrified. what if someday i tell him that my heart beats for him, and his does not feel the same for me? i fear he will be the reason my heart shatters again — broken into pieces, i would have no idea how to repair.
but then again, the heart can repair itself. maybe along the way, i can find someone to remind my heart that it can repair itself.
The Stillness Archive 