If a heart's made of gold, then mine's covered with rust -- I've spent less time on love than on lust. Put bluntly, I've asphyxiated on infatuation. I should join a monastery for the good of castration. Barring that, address the condition at the start: everything would be clearer if I didn't have a heart. I could get by on the Tin Man's fare. Life would be simple if I really didn't care.
Yeah, I could live without a heart just fine. Take a spade and bury mine. Dig a hole and pack it down, put it six feet underground. I don't want a tell-tale beat. I don't need a heart to pace the street. Tear it up and throw it away, I won't be needing it today. It's atrophied. All it does is bleed.
And underneath this gold exterior lies nothing but a heart of stone. Underneath the soft exterior all you'll find is blood and bone (and a bit of provolone). So that may not be where the problem lies.
Allow me a moment to philosophize: The question has arisen -- could I bypass my condition (through a well placed incision)? Though the heart fuels devotion, does it deal with emotion? Desire, in its budding, must stem from the brain, so it would seem in this case that the trouble would remain. In my heart's stead, the trouble's in my head.
I'd be the first to sign up for lobotomy, but that operation would create a dichotomy. True, I'd no longer be sidetracked by desire, but identity-wise it's a funeral pyre. Clearly that's not warranted in this situation; it's the brainstem analogue of aforementioned castration. In short, my objective, phrased as a directive: retain predilection without want of erection (those of censorious profession, please pardon the expression).
The same problem has perplexed those who are oppositely sexed. In Juliet's day in that old Shakespeare play, desire thrived -- neither party survived. Quod erat demonstratum, but we're not to the bottom. In King Arthur's time there was lust in the court, you can read all about it in the medieval La Mort. Even then the problem was one in the head, and nothing was resolved until they ended up dead.
And so it continues on down to the present day -- we hide our desires behind layers of pleasantry. We wade through the insights of a lecture or three, but we're spending more time thinking lecherously.
So enough! Fill my head with tales of true lust. Spin me around in a circle if you must. I'm centrifugally yours, I'm whirling on course. It's mind, body, heart -- until death do us part.
Enough of this gambit. I've got better things to do. I need a bad habit, and I'm starting with you.