The Foolish Heart
Once again I have made another step I did not think of, another stupid foolish decision. I knew there was something not right, something I have done too early. The prematurity of this foolishness can be detected from the start. I wasted so much time, so much effort on a thing unsure of giving me anything in return. I do not know what had gotten into me; I was Jack from the start after all. I sold my precious cow for a bag of magical beans. But unlike the fairy tale, the beans did not grow tall as expected. Yes, I know that those beans have yielded me happiness and contentment. Every effort I gave did seem to flourish very slowly. But still there is uncertainty; there is still a tiny percentage of failure. That tiny percentage is what I have dreaded from the start. The fear of losing everything I worked for, the stupid, cowardly fear of wasting all the effort I gave. I have always been a prideful entity, and it has been a habit for me to do things in a planned manner. And all this time I have allowed the blind, trusting heart to rule over everything. I have been stuck in every move the heart made me do. I may be called intellect, the companion of the fragile heart. I have kept inside all the possible outcomes of what the heart is doing, and it is not impossible that both of us would get hurt in the end. The heart is such a fool. He is the one who gets easily enslaved by mere emotions; he does this all for the pleasure of being happy. He does not think of what possible outcomes his every move might have. But I have guided him enough already. I have told him not to waste those meaningful and promising words on a very uncertain cause. In the end, it seems that it is not the average heart that normally does such foolish actions, but it is the love-stricken one. I admit that the heart is more influential than I, but I have enough sense not to trust these earthly emotions. The only problem is that the heart does not entertain my warnings. He obviously likes the company of love; he likes the company of a thing that makes you do things uncalculated and indefinite. All these will surely heighten the chances of getting hurt in the end. I do not fully appreciate the joy and contentment lave can give, I mean, we can always love at a different time, when we have fully understood what love is. Our immaturity can lead us to pain, the eventual wounding of the heart. And we do not even know if it would heal or not. We do not know if the scar would annoy us forever. I do not play the villain here, I am just an imaginary symbol used to express what our mind is for, and I only say my opinion. I carry the burden of these worries, all for the sake of making the heart; everything happy. The heart is so trusting. I am just so sick of being hurt.
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Points: 1092
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