My heart has a fault. A flaw.
Hardly anyone understands.
A friend of mine had a murmur, turbulent blood. ‘It’s Grade six. Very loud with a thrill. You could hear it if you were standing next to me.’ I wondered if he’d pull a photo out; the proud owner of a noisy heart.
No. This is not extra rushing hot blood. This is the space inbetween, the skip, the leap up into a blank sky, when you’re not sure if you’ll ever come back to land. Not something a doctor can fix, this: the absence of you in my life.
Look after your heart.