Arrhythmia

If you could be bothered to listen, you’d know what it’s like in here. I once knew a human who did listen but her heart broke when she heard my voice, so she sold me.

But, if you could be bothered to listen, you’d hear my arrhythmic heart. You’d hear my terrified heart. You’d hear my exhausted, nerve-wracked, agonised heart. You’d hear my captured heart. You’d hear my bleak, unspeakably sad heart. But you can’t, so you don’t know that I love you: you think our relationship is all about you.

If you could be bothered to listen, you’d know I never know what you’re going to do next. One minute you’re putting fences round me or, worse, putting me in a box (and that travelling box is an absolute abomination), the next you’re astride me and expecting me to gallop my head off, sometimes against other poor Equidae. You never ask how I feel, although I do tell you.

But I made a plan last night, and I hope with all my heart it will work. You haven’t noticed how easily I open and close the door to my box but, by morning, I’ll be gone because, if my heart’s natural rhythm isn’t restored very soon, I will die.

But, if you should call after me, I will hear you. And if you do call, and if you show me you’ll never disrupt my natural rhythm again, I’ll return and teach you my language. If you can’t, it will be beyond my heart’s measure to listen to one more word.