Your Mess Is Mine

I don't trust people who follow their hearts.

Hearts are peculiar things. They're necessary muscles that keep us alive by pumping blood and oxygen into our veins. Hearts are also compulsory, often making us foolish. They pull us towards others with a force that aches, burns, and satiates you all at once. Before you know it that mass of tissue is no longer yours.

Maybe mine never was.

In my case, that draw came from a stranger that left my heart feeling both fulfilled and consumed.

I didn't expect to fight her for the last standby seat to New York City. I didn't plan on letting her get under my skin. Or the way her vulnerability tore me up inside and compelled me to care for her. She didn't plan on letting me witness her chaos.

Her anxious heart and my perfectionist mind let things get messy.

And though we didn't plan for it, our interrupting of each others' lives was exactly what we needed.

Sometimes the mess is the most beautiful part of life.