Imagine this:

You were involved in an accident.

Nothing serious, just a few bruises and may be a couple of broken bones. But nothing that could possibly be life-threatening. You are in the hospital, expecting family and friends and that neighbor aunty you adore so much or your best friend’s father who is like a father to you. Expecting them to show up and bring you flowers and cookies and tell you how worried they are for you and give you forehead kisses and blessings to get well soon.

But, none of them visit. Not a single one.

Instead, they are all busy preparing your funeral. Yes, you read that right. You are alive, just a few bruises, but very much alive. Breathing. Healing. But all of your loved ones, every last one of them decides to hold your funeral instead. They’re busy writing eulogies, preparing for grieving guests, crying and telling people how much they miss you and how you were gone too soon. They have ‘accepted’ your death and have convinced themselves of it. It’s as if they were looking for an excuse to get rid of you from their lives.

Like all the years of happiness that came from being around your loving family, friends and relatives was a cruel pretense to fool you into believing that you were loved.

Like you never mattered.

Like they are better off without you.

But you’re alive, right? Sure you’re a bit broken right now, but you aren’t dead. It’s just a few bruises that will heal in a few weeks; and then you can be back with them. But no. They’d rather accept your death than the fact that you’ll be alright in some time.
You cringed at the thought, didn’t you?

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What if I tell you that this is the exact situation you’ve put your Heart since it broke for the first time. I write Heart with a capital H because I want you to see it as a person. Some girl said no, some guy didn’t text you back, some friend drifted apart, some college didn’t accept you…and suddenly you decided that you have to lock your Heart up, and bury it deep down somewhere where light can’t reach it. You decided to hold its funeral when it wasn’t dead yet, just a bit broken.

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You proudly wrote an eulogy saying “I don’t have a heart anymore, it’s better this way” and used it to keep away from light. From love. You didn’t let your Heart see hopeful new friendships or potential real love. You even denied any affection from friends and family to reach the poor guy. You took pride in the pretense that you got rid of the troublesome bastard. You robbed it of so many deserving flowers and cookies and forehead kisses and blessings all because it broke once. The only thing that was beating for you, and only you, ever since you were a fetus, you killed it right off without thinking twice.
He was wounded, but beating. Pumping. Healing.

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Because trust me, if your Heart wanted you dead, you would be dead.

But you know what, hon? Your Heart deserves to beat in a better person than you.

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