Bubble-wrapped

I would like somebody to blow a bubble. I’d like it to float softly in the air towards my open mouth until I swallow the glittering, light-reflecting soap ball. Then it would travel down my throat and squeeze in through the little spaces between my organs until it followed the signs to my fragile, pumping heart. The bubble would silently, so slowly and so gently, wrap my heart in its bubbly-mass. Then my heart would be in a bubble. Maybe it’d be uncomfortable at first. But I think I could get used to it. Why is it that when we talk about heartbreak, the heart is the organ we mention? The pumping, beating heart, never stopping until it stops, living until it dies. A. says one of the science teachers carries a pig heart around in her shoulder bag. Maybe it wasn’t a shoulder bag. I can’t remember. Hearts are so funny. Something about how the most complex and the simplest are always the most beautiful. The world’s so hard sometimes; it just feels nice to've been given the ability to cry. Sometimes, I wish the earth would stop spinning just for a second… maybe just a little longer. Only long enough to let me understand some things, let other things fall into place. Gather my armies. World, please just let me gather my armies.