There’s a medical procedure called stomach stapling, which is used for obese people, to help them feel full faster and reduce their overall intake of food.

Why can’t they invent something like that for hearts? All I feel is my walls stretching and blood vessels pumping harder, with each day and event where I discover something alarmingly emotional. It works like a sponge, soaking and getting heavier, pulling me down with the weight of all the problems that will never get solved; mine, others, the world, the air, the land. Moments of happiness collect and fill up, only to get drowned by bigger droplets of raining sorrow. There are rivers and oceans within me, salt and sand, silting my arteries, clogging them slowly. Stop it, I tell myself, stop thinking. Nothing can be done, even if you care, it won’t matter. It really won’t. Minutes will tick on, bottomless wells of pain will keep getting dug, the screams will echo on. In the end none of this will count for anything, a life with or without feeling.

So staple my heart. Please. Before I explode and leave nothing but unfinished stories.

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