Funny how we compartmentalize our heart and put people in each one (compartment) according to the way we love them. Or the way they love us. Either or. I don’t know how many compartments my heart has. I don’t count. But there are certain people, not many of them though, who almost always make me cry when I think of them.
These are the people I kinda shouldn’t love, the people I don’t know why I love, but I love anyway. And in fact, I love them harder than some people I should. There is no explanation for that. Just like there isn’t any logic for compartmentalizing my heart. I just do because I just am. Like that. Questa è Enida.
And just so you know if you too have a compartmentalized heart, the crying comes from loving them hard. Nothing else. We know they are always there. They know they’re always there. Wherever there is. So when one says, “You, I’ll love on a plane where you know how to find me.” you know you are loved. You know, if that is not love, nothing else is.
Questa è Enida 
Leave a comment