First there were 10, who commented on my physique. They told me that I had a killer ass and a waist they could wrap one arm around. They told me I had a jawline that could cut through a hazy day. And cheekbones that could lift more than just their spirits.
Then there were 7, who told me my body was a temple and that they wanted to explore the depths of religion. They screamed, whistled and hollered that the base thumping through my veins as I swayed from side to side in a tipsy kind of daze; matched the bump and grind of their heartbeat, and asked if I could join into their rhythm.
Then there were 4, those 4 were the ones that looked at my heart through binoculars. Close enough to see the blood sprinting through my veins as my heartbeat accelerated. They were close enough to see it, but still far away so they didn’t have to touch it.
Then there were 2. These 2 hurt the most, because those 2 were not the same. The one grabbed my heart and taught me how to feel. The other touched my mind and taught me how to think. In the end I discarded my brain because my heart was making the most noise. Then one day there was silence. I noticed that the constant buzz of doubt, suspicion and regret was my mind not giving up on me.
My mind made it possible for it, my soul and my heart to co-exist.