Have you ever thought about what attacks your hearts?
Not smoking, drinking nor eating fatty foods, not sitting on the couch. Not cholesterol clogging up your precious plumbing. Those are excuses, things you tell each other to keep calm and carry on, because living with the truth kills you.
I am what attacks your hearts.
The shocks of life, the scares, the near misses, the passing of loved ones, all make the heart grow weak over time. Forming fine, fine cracks like aged china or porcelain, fissures in the pump you call heart. I tiptoe around you every day, finding these weakness like water across rock, a war of attrition and corrosion.
Once a crack gives, I find my way in.
Memory does not live in the brain but in the heart and old hearts are full of forgotten ghosts. This is why I rarely attack the young. The ghosts of every heartbreak you have ever known. The ones you remember and the ones you don’t the big and the small, your first love and the moment you realised people lied. All stored in you.
Your ancestors knew me as Losian.
I am Loss and I am what kills you.
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