Sometimes, my heartbeat becomes uncomfortable, too much. I don't mean this as metaphor. Sometimes it is like being in a small room with a loud noise, trapped in that four-chambered room with the screen door banging, banging, banging in the wind. And then I get to thinking about the heart itself, the dark and ochre muscle of it, pumping on and on. Aren't you tired, little heart? Sometimes I want to give it time to rest, just a night of solid sleep. Sometimes I feel sorry for it, working so hard. How can it work so hard?