In the stillness that is this very moment, I can hear my heart. She is speaking to me in a faint whisper, gently pulling at my chest, silently crying on her own.
"I am not ready for this," she says breathlessly. "Please don’t make me.."

My brain, however, replays the voices of these passed few months.
"The saddle.."
"Be really in love, don’t you deserve that?"
"Relearn."
"Just try not to trip."
"I didn’t realize he even exists anymore, one day he was there, then suddenly he was gone. I haven’t even heard you talk about it."

My brain apologizes to my heart for trying to force her forward.

"I know it’s hard sometimes," my brain says to her, secretly rolling her eyes at an organ who thinks merely with emotion and lacks any reason at all. "But believe me when I tell you this is good, just like before. You’ll be really happy again. I’m working on that for you."

But the brain is the one to have eyes rolled at. Without emotion one is simply one robotic calculation after the next. And so, my heart takes what comfort she can from the brain’s words, but the truest form of hope for that poor heart doesn’t stem from any reason or logic. It stems from the idea of being filled with such lightness that she will float up from these depths, passed the ribs that try to keep her in place, over the lungs that longed for a sigh of relief, up the throat that held a knot in it, passed the mouth that spoke so little and just above the eyes that fell blind until she reaches that very brain that defied all logic and reason by allowing my person to fall so deeply in the first place. This sad heart will, with that helium-like life, look that brain straight on and say,
"Don’t worry. I know it’s hard, having such a light heart when there isn’t any logical reason to, but believe me when I tell you this is good."

And then this sad little heart, with it’s new found love of life, will float back down throughout my body and revitalize every cell within it until the brain itself is transformed, nerve by nerve, into a logical mass with a new found respect for emotion. Working together, finally they will achieve the truest form of bliss.

The truest form of woman.

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