If I had two hearts, I’d walk through burning flames and never look back because I would be too busy filling them up with symphonies of what could have been and urge myself to plant flowers along with the music. All day, I would pluck their petals trying to ascertain
whether I deserve the life they give me or not.
If I had two hearts, I would still devote them to one person, through the affection
and through the loss of it. I don’t think it’s fair, though. Is it? Still, if I had two hearts, I would still be confused; I would spend my days questioning what I feel about who I am and everyone around me. The equation would only evolve into chaos but I would still justify this chaos and all the corrupted emotions without allowing either of my hearts to tell me what to do.
I do know that if I ended up with two hearts they would both be functioning just the same,
both of them will pump blood through my veins but not for the sake of holding on to life, just for the habit of it.
There’s a possibility that I might not be fascinated by the idea of dying young any more and I might even want to die slower. But if I had two hearts, I would hurt just the same and maybe slightly a bit more.
If I had two hearts, both of them would have been in pieces.