Hearts are not to be trifled with. Hearts beat faster when the beloved comes closer, and they ache when they are lonely and forgotten. Hearts do break, but they also endure. Jealously and envy poison the poor heart. One might coldly describe the physiological function of the heart as one of pumping blood, but then, where’s the fun in that? The heart is the closest thing we have to feeling pure emotion, to giving meaning to our existence, to letting us know that in spite of the dark nights, we are all fire and still alive. The heart is proprietary and irrational, hopeful and full of desire. The heart is poetry, art and music all clamoring to be seen and heard. Logic and reason and rational thought are not a part of the heart’s repertoire. Why would anyone try to keep their heart locked up, silent, motionless, inactive? Life is often not kind to the heart, making it suffer and cry and endure pain. Loss is unkind to the heart, and yet all happy love stories end in loss and suffering. The heart knows this deep down in the dark places where the soul resides. The joy of togetherness is always offset by the pain of separation. The heart, though, will risk everything for the joy of companionship and the pleasure that it brings. Bliss, ecstasy, elation, happiness are all transfixed by the heart in the rapture shared with the beloved. The heart knows, darkly, that nothing is forever, but the heart is also blind and forgets that time marches forward and changes everything in the blink of an eye. The heart chooses to love because it has no choice. The alternative, a generation condemned to solitude, is unspeakable. In the end the heart pretends to live out a comedy, turning a blind eye to the tragedy that waits at every turn because the alternative to not loving is succumbing to a valley of perpetual tears. The heart knows this and chooses to love anyway.