What is a heart but not for the bloodstream? I ask you. My voice is strained, strange, stranded. It's higher than I remember. It vibrates more than I remember. It slides chunkily from my throat, clumsy and unsure.

For an unknown reason, the smoothness of your voice irritates me. Flames of unrest spark in my chest. How long have I been here, listening to your ridiculous speeches and watching your jarring gestures, how long will it be until you will cease to ridicule my vast and eternal wealth of knowledge? From an eternity or two of existence, I can tell that "matters of the heart" don't exist. The heart is a vital organ, not a tool of the chemical emotions.

What is this? I said matters of the heart didn't exist, did I not? Stop insisting on it. Stop trying to make me look like a fool. You would never understand the pain and confusion you have managed to put me through. The world's biggest fool is you, and you are going to suffer the pain of a thousand poisons for it.

You'll never understand my pain.

Stop saying you do. Don't touch me. No.

For millennia upon millennia, I have not shed a single tear. Why have you chosen to break this record? This pressure in my chest isn't a heart. It's a buildup of… something. I can't explain it.

I really hate to admit it, but this is unfamiliar.

I really hate to admit it, but you understand this more than I do. Otherwise I wouldn't be asking you questions.

What is a heart but not for love? you ask me.