Hearts

Sometimes our hearts speak a language
They don't sing
They talk
Fast and sporadic and trip over their own words
They throw fits and tire quickly
But they work for a purpose
Sometimes
We find another with a heart like ours
A heart that speaks a similar language
For a similar purpose
Then when ours are tired, theirs whispers softly
And when their heart throws a fit, ours may stay still
Wait for the yelling to become crying
And the hearts pull themselves together
Work as a unit
A machine
One heartbeat of pushing then pulling and pulling and pushing
Only then are our hearts refilled with the dark red of the hopes and dreams
And both hearts push both bodies towards the rest of their life
Whispering to eachother in a language not all hearts understand