Hearts are funny, fragile, things.

They swell, break, fill, and beat. You can wear yours on your sleeve, offer it to another, and have it ripped out. You can cut yourself off from your emotions and make your heart grow cold. Or let a child into your life and feel it warm. But, for most of us they ache with need.

Clamoring at the walls of skin, crying to find another, to be opened and shared... Fighting to find an equilibrium, a place where we are open enough to see anothers, but closed enough to survive this world of unkind words.

I'm looking for you.

With the compass of my own beating center I search for you and yours.

If you live until the age of 70 your heart will have beat (assuming a steady rate of 70 bpm) 2.75949 times, fancy that.

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