Sleeves.

imagem: google

I wear my heart on my sleeve.

It just sits there looking pretty, waiting for that exact, perfect and wrong moment in which to panic and leave me gagging for air.

It sits there on my sleeve, watching. Listening. Feeling. The bastard never lets up. And he speaks. He babbles. He screams at the top of his lungs, warning off dangers and welcoming smiles. He skittles and runs, jumps and hops, sings and dances, cries and yells, stops and restarts. He sits there, on my sleeve, as if he owned me and not the other way around.

He falls for lies and betrayals as easily as I fall on the couch after a long day of having to deal with him and his stupid antics. He believes what he shouldn’t and then gets all sulky and bad-tempered when my brain takes over. His incompetence is astounding. His resilience though, is admirable. He answers back to whom he shouldn’t and keeps his gob shut when he should speak. He says yes instead of no and no instead of yes. He looks at what he shouldn’t and never ignores what he should. My brain has long but given up on trying to make him see some sense, on trying to make him a little bit more down to earth but it’s of no use. He just doesn’t care.

He smiles one day and cries the next. He’s bipolar to the minute.

But he’s always there. Always waiting. Always alert. Always ready to learn from some mistake and to make due on a good deed. He loves and hates, he kicks and screams, he bites and scratches, he smiles and frowns.

He’s all beat up and bruised, full of scars that give him endless stories to tell. But he still lights up when reminiscing about the future and remembers all the good he’s done and had in the past.

He’s no quitter. He never lets up. And even though my sleeve sometimes seems just too small to carry him around, I know that it’s been him carrying me through all the good and bad of life’s adventures.

I wear my heart on my sleeve for the world to see and for him to be seen.

I keep an eye out of course, but how do you reckon with that one little thing that concentrates so much of your will power inside it?

It’s like being an addict, waiting for the next high after the lowest of lows. It’s what keeps you going. That faith and trust that you feel in your bones that one day, maybe one day, after he’s chosen right, you’ll be able to pack him up to a safer place, where he can finally rest and just live free.

Hope never fades. And neither does a heart that just won’t give up on others or on himself.

On my sleeve. That’s where he is. For now.