HOW CLOSE AM I TO LOSING YOU
He couldn't really find a way into her heart. All the stairways led to concrete ceilings and the doors led to brick walls. As he was running when he was searching for a way into her heart, he found this unnerving. But not defeating. It was, however, painful. And, as you may know, running into concrete ceilings and brick walls is an impediment.
But he was persistent and focused and he had a fire in his heart, so onward he went, sustaining bruises and velocity. Days. Weeks. Months. All these stairways. All these doors. It was a maze. It was a labyrinth. It was that ride at Disneyland the small world ride but instead of countries it went through lungs and ovaries and veins and, once, a frontal lobe and instead of being joyfully escorted in a cart and smiled at by soprano-heavy happy faces he was instead propelled forward by his own feet by his own stubbornness and instead of being smiled at he was spit on because the organs thought this bruised stubborn creature was a cancer and so, like, get the fuck out, right?
But, still, onward--because a long time ago, he saw her bright and smiling and she glowed and held his hand and spun the world on her index finger like a basketball and held his hand and when all that shut down he promised her that he would find it and give it back to her.
And finally, one day, he tripped, fell over a cliff that looked suspiciously similar to a left ventricle, and voila! There he was. In her heart. He walked to the back, felt along the wall in the darkness, and when his fingers found it, he flipped the light switch.
And she lit up. Bright eyes. Honest smile. The warm buzz of curiosity once again pumping through her blood. He stretched out on the floor. He decided to stay. Just in case.