Why is the language of the heart
the one most misunderstood?
It is the closest thing we have
to therapy,
to the depths of someone’s soul,
to the echo of someone’s truths.
I once misunderstood it—
until I learned to listen
to the whisper of my own soul
while all alone.
It’s more than words,
or sophisticated metaphors—
it’s a map of someone’s heart,
a step-by-step of how they felt.
But what do I do
when no one speaks this language?
Are we not human?
Do we not all have hearts
that ache to be heard?
Then let me be the madman,
lost in his delusions,
rather than the hollow one
who forgets how to feel.
If there is one person left
who knows this language,
let it be me—
and if there are none,
then I am no longer of this world.
Until then,
I’ll keep pouring myself into words,
hoping one day you’ll learn
the language of love—
the language of the heart.