The chambers

In reality, I am an American surgeon from New York. I’m a general surgeon specializing in cardiothoracic surgery. If I can’t mend my own heart, I shall mend those of others. Maybe then I will feel a little bit better.

Surgery is a form of healing that you can grasp; there’s a body that you can hold on to. You talk to flesh and blood, and they listen. They hold a disease that you remove for them, and they are ever so grateful.

You believe that doing good will make you feel good, too, but whether you care is another issue you need to tackle.

What you do has to come from the heart, they say. It’s like a foreign language that I’ve never learned to speak, and yet I speak to flesh and blood.

A purpose occupies each chamber of the heart – the dealing with oxygen – four air-conditioned apartments for you to accommodate happiness, sorrow or whatever floats your boat.

And it’s love that takes your breath away.

And it’s love that has the ability to trigger a malfunction.

It’s all in the physical heart.

Excuse me; I have some homes to fix.

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