Sometimes when I’m in bed trying to fall asleep, I notice that my hand finds itself inadvertently over the left of my chest, where the heart lies. I lie there and feel the consistent and infallible thuds, the reminder that this muscle ceases to abort operation. I imagine the fluctuation of the tricuspid and bicuspid, and the whisper of life’s toxin rushing past. The heart is a phenomenal organ — it’s function, even moreso.
It will never rest. Until you have depleted the last molecule of cellular energy in your reservoir, your heart will continue to dance inside your chest. One day it will fail, but until then it won’t. Until then, it can’t.