Listen carefully to the rustle of your heart. There are tiny gusts of wind that swish your ventricles into a heavy chime, and those who love you are called to your side from its silent whistle. You are an absolutely gorgeous reprint of a Frida Kahlo painting. You are the bruise above your kneecap that reminds you of a night spent under the stars. You are the delicious smell of firewood when autumn rests its head on you. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.