Who knows what it’s like to commute in a heart. Going in and out at regular intervals, as per
Who knows what it’s like to commute in a heart. Going in and out at regular intervals, as per the prearranged schedule, in a kind of habit without affection. Is there anything left? The sound of shoes on the doormat when you enter, and the sound of the door closing when you leave? Does the heartbeat change, accelerated when you arrive, slower when you leave, or the same, flat? I wonder but I don’t really want to know: a heart commuter is an emotional parasite that I really don’t want to have, an opportunist that should be avoided. I let him knock, I don’t pretend I’m not there, I’m already gone. [2021©Yelena b.] https://www.instagram.com/p/CPawT-CBKpqs1Gr1nvrE0X6FgNnyrXmOGx8t-U0/?utm_medium=tumblr -- source link