"Why the serious face, young gentleman?" pondered Little Heart in his cheerful glee.
"You shouldn't make fun of someone's appearance, let alone the one who pilots the body you inhabit" I replied, vexed as a winter oak tree.
"Someone's sore today"
"Atleast I am not an organic machine cursed to perpetually pump blood in this fucking living carcass" I shouted, turning away
Little Heart sat down quietly besides me.
Shortly after, Little Heart broke the silence with a gasp.
"Tell me, what is wrong?"
"I am confused. I cannot understand your song..."
"My song?" He laughs "Oh, I have but one serenade; it is Love."
"Love? What is Love? The unbridled passion that captured my senses after I first met her? Is this... Love?"
"Ardent as the fiercest lion and bright as the mightiest sun. What a wonderful sentiment. Yet, Love is not it."
"Then what is Love? The agitation and excitement I feel around her? Is this Love?"
"The adorable jitter and the most pleasing angst sparked by a lover. How delightful. Yet, Love is not it."
"Surely you jest. What is it then? This lustful force that pulled me to her when in solitude? Is this Love?"
"Oh you poor fool," Little Heart smirked. "Your burning fervor is indeed powerful. Yet, Love is not it."
"I am getting sick of this. Is Love the agony that torments my nights after losing her? Is love this endless pit of guilt I feel after she turned her back to my frustration? Is this Love?"
"No you utter fuckwit," said a flabbergasted Little Heart. "Love is none of these emotions you so eloquently describe.
Love is not just an emotion. It is an experience. You cannot chronicle an experience with words."
"Then how do I know if I truly loved her..."
"Look back at the times you two spent together."
"Those were good times. Best times."
"Now imagine, then, if the skies ever came down crashing heralding the world's end, would you rather spend the rest of your ephemeral existence with her?"
"I understand now. In that case, I still love her."
As I muttered those last words, Little Heart valiantly skipped away.
