I have devoted so much time and energy and effort in my life, mostly unconsciously, to fight, to numb, to run away from that which I am now realizing is the most beautiful part of me: my heart. My heart is not wrong. My heart is filled with love, positively exploding with it; it lends my mind that boundless fascination through which I filter everything. I still love to stare at the clouds, their soft, untouchable, nebulous forms. I still love the sound of dry autumn leaves crackling beneath my feet. I still love the sensation of water on my skin, whether it trickles or pours or engulfs it. I am still absolutely in love with the brilliant yellow light that pours from the sun in the morning, streaming through window blinds, illuminating the open air. I still love the sound of rain crashing onto rooftops and parked cars—the sound of nature at its purest as it meets quintessential modernity. I still love learning a new word. I still love hugs and kisses and unadulterated excitement and affection.

My heart wants to trust people, to see their base intentions and needs with all the empathy and naivete that we all possess. My mind, with all its history, with all its artifacts and anecdotes and facts and assumptions and conclusions, tells me not to; and they fight and they fight and they fight.

I have long said that I felt that the idea that the heart is never wrong was untrue and unreliable, because the heart can trick the mind into pursuing things that are unwise. I have come to believe over time that emotions and logic have nothing to do with each other, inherently speaking, but I also absolutely feel that they can, and do, influence each other. One’s logical process is heavily influenced by emotional instincts, and similarly, emotional viewpoints can often be manipulated by reasoning, compartmentalization, and so on and so forth.
But this all convolutes that which is most clear and most pure: instinct and intuition.

Our hearts are all different, but they all have a sense of purity.

The heart cannot be wrong because it does not operate on the right-or-wrong terms of the mind.

And this is okay.

It is okay to feel, and feel fully. It is spectacular, even!

It is an amazing capability of ours as humans, as thoughtful, observant, sentient, emotional beings.

I have only recently begun to both acknowledge and accept that I am, really, underneath—or perhaps above—all of the persona and posturing and reasoning and assimilation, a deeply emotional being. I am a sensitive and sentimental creature. I, according to at least one other person who knows me well, really do wear my heart on my sleeve—more than I realize. I am vulnerable as anyone. I care about people.

I adore this earth and all of the things that make it up. I adore people for just being people, in all their complex glory. I can’t hate people, not truly, not completely. I can’t hate anyone because they are all just as complex and simple and unique and typical as I am. Who am I to judge? Who am I to hate? We are all, all of us, wonders of nature.

How could I even tell myself not to love? Not to crave intimacy, not to fall in love with everyone close to me, in all of their bold energies and storied pasts and brilliantly arranged appearances?

I notice these things. Certainly not all of the time, but I do.

I am enveloped in an awe and awareness of my surroundings.

Everything is an experience for me; every second counts.

I am trying to remember that, more and more. Every second is rich with reality and possibility.

So I am embracing this, this heart I have, this heart I seem to love abusing, ignoring, fighting until it makes it impossible for me to do so.

I am embracing my love and affection for others. I accept and embrace that I do care, and want to care, and want to be cared for by these beautiful people that cohabit this earth with me.

And my heart is not wrong.