Inside all of us lives an untamed creature. It deceives and manipulates the thoughts of our feeble minds.
It is a treacherous, dangerous, wild thing. And it beats against the frail walls of our rip cages demanding to be let out. It was a tormenting monster stuck prisoner in the walls of its prison, us.
It absolutely despised being controlled, being tamed. Something tame was not what it was, wasn't what it was supposed to be.
This peculiar creature I speak of is supposed to be what it is, wild, deranged, monstrous, dangerous. Anything otherwise was...wrong. It was almost like a dog without its bark, or a docile lion who didn't roar.
It was incoherent, meaningless. I mean why even exist as a lion if you haven't got a roar?
And what is a dog if it has yet to sound a bark? Its existence would almost seem pointless although it is not but it would seem that way.
What is a heart if it hasn't got at least a touch of wildness to it? And what is a heart if not unsettled and vague?
Its just a beating organ thats what it is, and the ribcages no longer cages but merely just ribs. Because there would be no need for a prison anymore, the beast has lost its wild side. The flame that makes it into what it is has lost its orange. The heart has become a dog that is yet to bark, a lion unable to roar, it has become what it shouldn't be, tame.
But really this beast that lived inside of us wasn't all wild and nothing else. There's was something else about it, something that made it so dangerous, so lethal, so...toxic.
This imprisoned creature of ours was strong, strong enough that in its deceiving ways it controlled us, and not the other way around like you would think, or perhaps want.
It was strong, stronger than us. And this is why it is our weakness. But the strange thing was the heart itself was frail.
Fragile in its selfish ways. It was a seeker of something it knew was only bond to wound it, but yet it was like us, it acted...human. In a way we were our hearts. It punned after this thing, it was like its oxygen, it needed it badly, it was almost like a intoxicating drug. And our heart seldom stopped to think of the agonizing consequences.
It had a mind of its own.
It controlled us, made us do things we didn't want to do, made us feel things we didn't want to feel. But in a way I think we let it control us, because maybe perhaps we lacked knowledge in how to control ourselves.
I think the heart and love are lovers. Love is a deceitful thing but then again so is the heart. But perchance love is more. More wild, more vague, more.
I'm not so sure why the heart would do something as stupid as chasing after love if it knows how addicted it is to it, it should know by now, anything addicting is never good.
Love is no good, but I think at the same time it is.
I don't think humans could survive a life time whiles feeling no love. It was something as demanding and needed as oxygen. It was like air, if we didn't breath it in we would suffocate and die.
Except I think with love it happened slowly, so slowly that at times the loss of air would go unnoticed until the very moment when it all came crashing down on you at once and you immediately begin to feel like you were drowning on the inside and couldn't breath. Your lack of love will destroy you until your done and through and theres nothing left to destroy.
It would become a pain to live, it would almost be like you were living everyday underwater, drowning. Life would seem almost lethal, torturous. Almost like the more you were breathing the more you were suffocating. And the worse part? Nobody would recognize your pain, nobody would notice you were drowning because sadly they would all be too busy being fine, ok, inhaling.
Yes, love is a destructive thing. But its no lie that it was something the prisoner inside of us needed. And because it needed it, we needed it too.
Because truly the heart was more than just a simple beat. More than just an untamed wild thing, more than just a prisoner, and much more than just frail.
It was an being an idiot always in search of love. But I don't think it meant to be that way, it was almost like a slave to love. It pumped, throbbed, and beated it. I don't think anybody in the right mind desired to be slaved, and yes the heart did have a mind.
And yes it was also breakable, but I think that was also one of this things it just had to be.
I've got a theory, I think hearts are meant to be broken.
Because the thing is if you don't break then you can never be mended. And No I don't think its completely impossible for the heart to mend itself after its been hurt. I think I said to you before that hearts never heal, and even if they did they never healed completely.
But I take that back, I've been mistaken I told you wrong.
I think hearts do mend themselves after they break, they have to. If not they can never love again, and if they don't love it's like they've basically put themselves to death. And it would almost be like you were being killed slowly, but really you are not. The heart needs to love, otherwise it dies without truly dying.
Yes it takes a while for it to heal itself, the process is agonizingly excruciating.
But I think with time it gets better, with enough time your heart fixes itself, with a tiny stitch across of it, covered neatly with an crisscrossed bandaid.
Your prisoner no longer throbs something awful, and now its stronger than it was, smarter, wilder, better.
The thing people at times don't realize is that sometimes after they've been hurt they still feel the pain after a long while. We always blame it on the heart, blame it for loving the wrong person, blame it for making you feel.
But why should we? It called its truce when it mended itself, and because of this it mended you, we are our hearts remember?
Your not always broken because your heart is broken. The heart gets over the hurt, over the pain, its the mind's that don't. Its the minds that keep remembering the broken memories, its the mind that reminds you of what you've lost, what you used to care about. The minds that simply think too much for much too long.
The minds are the ones that don't get over it, that don't heal themselves. And as for the heart?
Well for now its just a beating organ, banging against the feeble walls of your rib cage, still a prisoner, still wild.
Still it controls you, and still it demands to be let out.
~.~.~
YOU ARE READING
~Theories
Short Story{Completed} Luis Cowery is a eight year whom is deemed an outcast. He has no friends the rest of the children in his class avoid him. He one of those children that just aren't the same as the others, the grown up's don't deem him as someone or...
