It might seem to you that your machines are just as important
as your defeated heart, taking its beating too seriously
or not seriously enough. Those machines you depend on can
crash, go on life support, data lost in a cave-in as the heart
knows too well. Your hard disks corrupted with error messages.
The heart recognizing, goes on trying, you looking for what’s deeper,
explorer excavating for the tunnel to your pristine self. That can
never be corrupted. Hiding.
The heart is muscle, flexing into the decades of its drum rolls.
You believe in the power of fixing, tech support, software cleaning.
Lowering cholesterol, reducing inflammation. It’s becoming almost
the same to you. Your heart is echo, the sound of a trillion memories
traveling to your brain in a suitcase labeled The Past. Sound of a car horn
blasting, a waterfall surging, an orchestra playing a bolero. The heart
is wind, passage of time, silicon chips flying into the night sky. The next
day could be sun or torrents, still you go on, the things about you
in the files searching for immortality, if only they can be saved.