Let's Imagine the Heart is a House
You've got your porch outside that everyone can see, and many people visit. A stranger with a smile, a small cat crossing the street. Some people linger longer than others and some leave as soon as they came.
A few knock on the door and come in.
On the first floor, there are many rooms. There is also a large room just inside the door, for when the rain falls outside, and a kind stranger offers to help. All are filled with the soft sound of laughter and music. This is where your friends live. Each has their own room, kept nice and tidy by trust and good times. When a room is vacated, you can feel it. Soon enough, though, someone will come to occupy the space and make it their own.
People come and go at a far slower pace than the porch, and it may be a place where you spend many of your peaceful days.
In the back of the house, perhaps by the kitchen, there is a narrow set of stairs. The second floor holds a hallway with several doors. Family and close friends reside here. The rooms are far more personalized, for when people are let onto the second floor, they rarely leave. Maybe it’s quieter up here, maybe it’s louder.
Regardless, this is where you spend your darkest nights.
At the end of the hallway, there is a ladder. Lifting up the trap door at the top reveals the attic, lit only by a small window and whatever light you bring. Boxes covered with dust occupy the small room. Memories, secrets, and old lost friends are safely stored up here, and even though there are always new boxes to add, there is always room for one to take a box aside, sweep the dust off, and sift through its contents.
The room is always comfortably warm, so some visit often when the rest of the house seems cold. The boxes can even be rushed downstairs, and this warmth can be shared with those below.
The one thing about the house is that there are no locks on the doors. They are only held fast by the occupants and yourself. Most knock before entering, just out of common courtesy.
Sometimes when you leave the porch for the day, you’ll find a new member on the first floor, and their presence is of no surprise to you, though they never knocked. You’ll find yourself showing them around, giving them a room, and maybe even bringing a box or two down from the attic to share. How silly it must seem, treating these new residents like long-time tenants, but somehow they seem just as important as you hurry past the other rooms.
Their room get s bigger and bigger, and inches towards the stairs. Onle a few travel those stairs. So your silly-self wonders if you should trust them to travel upwards. One day you may take their hand and draw them to the first step. Every day, they may make their way up the staircase, sometimes without you noticing.
If you’re lucky, they make their way to the top and find the doors open, welcoming and loving.
Sometimes, however, you come down to the stairs to not find them waiting for you. You hurry back to their room, and the walls seem to be shaking as you press the door open.
Strong ones stay there in their room one last time, a solemn look on their face as they stand in the wreckage. They don’t stay for long, perhaps a parting word passes their lips, but then they leave the way they came.
Weak ones are already out the window, which was left hastily opened.
The carpet is splattered with water stains from leaks from the ceiling, tables are overturned, the wall has gouges, the curtains are in shreds.
Why would anyone do this to your heart?
Your poor, stupid heart.
PS.
But when such a thing happens, do not forget about your other rooms in this house with no locks. Some may be bitter about the dirt you track in from the damage, and leave themselves, citing the dust from neglect. The best residents you have are the ones that merely smile when you stand in your doorway, and even help you clean up the wretched room.
Perhaps these were the ones you should’ve let up the stairs.
[An idea that's been in my head for a while now, just wrote it out now]
[here's a funny .gif]
