As I walked through the valley of death, skelletons latched onto me.
I wanted to join them in their joyous crackling but my heart still pumped red blood.
Dancing with the skelletons, I could forget all about the world above.
Yet my heart would not stop beating. My blood would not stop boiling and revolting.
I was not dead. I will not be dead for a long while. And as such, me and the skelletons don't go together.
Shunning the living, turning an eye towards the dead, I shunned them less, but my pumping heart yearned for more.
Returning from the underworld, I started seeing lucky skelletons prancing around in their costumes made of flesh. Such a clumsy thing this flesh is. And its rarely earned but rather obtained by luck and clung on to.
My heart is precious in this world of bones. I can see now, finally, that it gives me life and strength, and its not meant to be thrown away into the cold void. It has become clear that it is something to be protected. As much as I tried to crush it and push it out. It hardened, toughened up, even rotted a little. But it never broke. This is why I must concede this battle, and make allies with the victor.
Dear reader, this might not make a lot of sense. Its not meant to.
I have learned a valuable lesson, one that most people find as common sense.
