Of course I know that the heart is not where all the romance happens. It's really just a messy muscle that pumps the blood. It feels like it all goes on in there, though.
Instead of worrying about the past some kind of muscle memory provides me with the euphoria of some kid in love for the first time. I'm glad that I can't seem to learn not to touch the hot stove. I wouldn't want to have missed anything.
Sometimes when your heart has been broken I suppose that it's normal to question what you've been through. Now, here I am. I have loved.