I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

Neo, with the greatest reluctance, obeys.
C smiles at Sony and me and asks us how we’re doing. We both say
we’re doing okay. Neo reads C’s paper, half his attention on the
words, half of it lost.
Cardiovascular issues are points on a broad spectrum of severity.
What’s nice about the heart is that in most cases, if you catch the
problem early, it’s salvageable. What’s more difficult about the heart
is that it’s essential, and if you aren’t fast enough…
—
When the night casts a muted blanket, Sony and I go to the gardens.
Neo and C sleep inside, tangled like little kids beneath the covers
while she and I lean against the great barrier and look at our city. Out
there, people always look twice at people like us. They glance at the
hospital on their way to work or from their office building, and they
see doctors and blood and gray. They don’t see our books or our
broken things. They don’t see a disabled poet and broken-hearted
composer making promises in the night.
They don’t know what it’s like to drown or to be cut from gardens. It’s
uncomfortable for them to witness it. Sick people attract and repulse.
Dying is a fascinating idea and a terrifying reality.
“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?” Sony says. Faraway stars reflect her
gaze, drawing string lights across her freckles.
A sigh works through me.
I rarely feel anything.
When I do, it’s muted, purposefully, like the dark.
Hearts are essential, though, aren’t they? Everything has a heart.
Even books, broken things, and I. Mine is locked away, frozen by the
night in the snow. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe.