Some people say that it’s foolish to follow your heart, as it is a fickle, flittering thing. Yet, when my mind is filled with complex, bewildering, competing thoughts, my heart always lights the way. I don’t tend to conform to society, nor do I follow the rule book most say dictates our lives. My heart speaks the truth even when my brain sputters out massive fallacies. When my head is shouting and screaming at me, my heart still finds a way to sing an absolutely beautiful serenade to soothe my soul. Even in the depths of the darkest moments in my life, my heart continues to beat.
I will never be sorry for following my heart because it overflows with empathy; it pulsates with compassion. The blood in my body flows to help, to serve others near and far, friend, foe, or foreign stranger. When I follow my heart, I provide comfort to those who are hurting; I embrace the broken I solace and shower them in loving kindness.
I won’t apologize for heeding to the wishes of my heart as it always knows what’s best for me. It aches when I’m being mistreated; it pounds when I’m afraid. The palpitations signal insatiable desire, and the cadences play to communicate love. I don’t even have to listen to understand, I can feel what I need as it drifts through my body, from the cavity of my chest to my hands and feet.
I’ll forevermore allow my heart to lead the way, as that’s where I store my dreams. The aspirations I have in life are held within the cage of my ribs for safe keeping. It quivers with my most delicate desires and my passions. My heart holds the precious hopes I have for the future, from tomorrow to the days when I am a wise and white-haired woman of nearly 82.
I can’t be sorry for listening to my heart, because it knows me better than any soul on this desolate, often disappointing planet. It’s where I pack away my deepest secrets; it’s where I isolate my pain. My heart throbs and thumps along with me, even when my mind concocts its wicked schemes to leave this wayward world behind. My heart forever beats for me, no matter what I think or who abandons me.
You can call me crazy, immature, and insane, but that won’t stop me from believing in the power of my heart. My heart is more than just an organ or a tiny part of me: my heart encompasses my being, it creates and completes me. The heart may want what it wants, but it knows entirely what I need. My heart is how I’m still alive, it’s why I don’t give up. I will never be sorry for following my heart, and really, neither should you ever be.