Heart Murmur

Pretty often I get scared of my body.  Above all when I smoke and my heartrate increases, flapping and sputtering, like I’m only half sown together and about to break, held with coarse, widening stitches, irregular, of thick black thread and the frayed edges of the tissue, buttons attached by a single thread, badly tied square knots.  But today I recalled a phrase of Daniel Paul Schreber’s: he’d “lived for years without a stomach, without esophagus, barely any lungs, a heart half sown shut…”  It felt really reassuring.

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