Reason can’t explain my heart. I love the sound that comes from the pistons when I push my right foot against the accelerator. I like to drive fast. I have never been asked why. If the question ever comes up, I would tell “I have young blood in me. And young blood has heat and aggression”. I don’t drive fast much. But even in those disciplined drives, I get an indescribable urge. I like closing my eyes when I drive. Welcome to my heart.
I can’t explain why my heart is devoid of reasons. When I pullout the most of rationality from my soul, I do get interesting and powerful things but they are soon undermined by the reasonless fickle waves of my heart. The reason dissolves. It proves rationality wrong. It destroys the well accepted ideals of the world around. I never close my eyes when I drive. It’s just an urge. We don’t satisfy all our urges.
But some day when I have my own car and a road of my own, I shall definitely keep my eyes away from seeing anything and my brain from dreaming anything and push the accelerator hard. I would feel the G – force against my chest and it would make me feel hugged by the reasoned gravity. There would be nobody sitting beside me asking me for any reason. For reason can’t explain heart.
If reason could explain heart, then the first thing I would long to know would be why it can’t be at the same pace always. I would ask my heart if it can stop beating for a little while so that I could spend some time without any feeling. I would ask my heart how I can overcome the feeling of love. I will never try to understand what love is. Because reason can define love and anything defined can be manipulated. A thing to be kept pure must be kept undefined.
If I, forget reason, could explain heart, then I would end the life of feelings in it. It’s the feeling that hurts, not the life in it. I would end the life so that there would be nothing left to be said and heard - only the feeling and the consequent pain; and of course me. I can’t explain this either. Neither can my heart do that. Who can explain a feeling? Do we really have to manipulate love?
I don’t know how old I am. Nor did I explain my maturity to anybody; forget me. All I understand is that I have been made an object of facts where truths go unsaid. From inside I find myself killing love for it has remained unrequited for quite long. It’s not love, but its feeling that hurts. I would keep the feeling and end the life in love. I would kiss the joy of being with me, the love and its feeling. Just that love won’t have life in it. It will be an empty fact boiled in truth.
I write for the sheer pleasure of loving. I love it even more when I don’t write. Pain makes love even more satisfying. It realizes the substance in love. Pain in principle, is the soul of love. I don’t understand my heart. I don’t believe that love can be written. Love doesn’t need words. But who will believe it? Feelings? Heart? Reason? Love doesn’t understand itself. It only suffocates. Welcome to my heart.
