Things of the Heart
- RV Lúcido
- 6 days ago
- 5 min read
Where Logic Ends and Life Begins
The heart doesn’t speak in straight lines. It whispers in curves, sings in pauses, and remembers what the mind tries to forget.
The things of the heart are soft, quiet, stubborn, and infinite. They are not made to be explained. They are meant to be felt. And yet, in a world obsessed with logic, the heart continues to beat its own strange language into the silence, unbothered, untamed, unforgettable.
Some things cannot be reasoned with. They can only be lived through.
There was a night when the world around me felt like static. Every sound felt sharp, every moment felt rehearsed, and every face looked like a mask that no longer fit. It was in that very night, when everything seemed empty, that a tiny, almost invisible warmth emerged, a feeling that could not be named, yet it filled everything.
I did not find it in words. I found it in a gesture. A hand on my shoulder. A gaze that didn’t need language. A heartbeat that synchronized with mine without effort.
And I realized then… the things of the heart are never loud. They don’t arrive like thunderstorms. They arrive like rain that sneaks in through the quietest corners and leaves everything drenched.
The Language That Has No Alphabet
The heart has a language older than any tongue ever spoken. It moves in energies, in glances, in the spaces between words. It never explains. It knows. It can sense a lie long before the mind rationalizes it. It can recognize love in a single silence. It can mourn without sound.
We try so hard to translate it, to label it, to fit it into the clarity of language, but the heart wasn’t built to be contained. The mind seeks understanding. The heart seeks truth.
There is a sacred kind of intelligence that lives beneath the pulse. It’s the quiet pull when you see someone and feel something that doesn’t belong to logic. It’s the calm ache of missing someone without needing a reason. It’s the weightless joy of being understood without speaking.
These are the things of the heart.
What the Mind Questions, the Heart Knows
There’s a war between the head and the heart that plays out in almost every life. The head builds walls to stay safe. The heart keeps finding doors in those very walls. One believes in protection; the other in connection. One looks for proof; the other trusts the invisible.
The world tells us to be smart. To calculate. To protect ourselves from hurt. But the heart, foolish and fearless, insists on feeling anyway. It steps forward knowing it may break. It chooses warmth over certainty. It holds hands even when it knows the storm is coming.
The beauty of the heart lies not in its strength but in its refusal to stop beating even after it’s been shattered.
The Bruises That Glow in the Dark
Everyone carries invisible scars that don’t announce themselves to the world. Not all heartbreaks come from love stories. Some come from friendships that faded. Some come from expectations that never met the light. Some from the weight of unspoken words and quiet goodbyes.
And yet, somehow, through all of it, the heart keeps walking. It doesn’t run. It doesn’t hide. It limps through the storm. It bleeds and still believes. It breaks and still beats.
The things of the heart are not fragile. They are made of the kind of softness that bends but does not shatter. That softness isn’t weakness; it’s a secret kind of power. The kind that doesn’t need armor to stand in the rain.
The Beauty of What Hurts
Pain has its own beauty when it comes from the heart. Not the kind that destroys, but the kind that deepens. The kind that makes your chest ache and your vision clearer. Pain doesn’t always break us. Sometimes, it stretches us, widens us, makes us capable of holding more.
The heart does not grow in safety. It grows in ache. It grows in the silent understanding of what it means to love without conditions, to let go without bitterness, to hold memories like petals, soft, even when they’ve fallen.
There’s a strange grace in the way the heart continues to choose light even after it has memorized the dark.
How We Love Is How We Live
The way a person loves reveals everything about how they exist in this world. Some love like a storm, intense, consuming, reckless. Some love like a river, quiet, constant, deep. Some love like a garden, slowly, carefully, patiently.
But no matter the shape it takes, love remains the heartbeat beneath every dream, every war, every soft whisper in the night. Love is not always romantic. It exists in friendships that feel like home, in the way your mother’s voice softens your edges, in the way strangers can hold the door just when your hands are too full to carry anything else.
These are not small things. These are the things of the heart.
The Soft Power in the Ordinary
The world often mistakes grandeur for meaning. But the things of the heart are never loud. They live in the smallness of daily gestures. A glance exchanged across a noisy room. A quiet walk at sunset. A touch that lingers for half a second too long. A “take care” said softly, not out of habit, but out of feeling.
The power of these moments lies in their ordinariness. They ask for nothing. They prove nothing. They simply are. And sometimes, that’s enough to hold a human together.
When Words Fail, the Heart Speaks
There will come a day when logic will not save you. When language will stumble. When explanations will collapse under their own weight. And in that moment, you will understand the things of the heart, because they will be the only things still standing.
The things of the heart don’t argue. They don’t defend themselves. They don’t need evidence to be real. They simply exist, and in their existence, they make everything else make sense.
It might be the way someone’s hand fits perfectly into yours. It might be the sound of a laugh you can’t unhear. It might be the silence of someone who doesn’t need to say anything to make you feel safe. Whatever form it takes, it is real.
And no one gets to tell you otherwise.
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The mind builds walls, but the heart builds homes. It finds warmth where logic finds gaps. It remembers the songs that words can’t hold. It carries the echoes of laughter and the weight of tears. And even when it breaks, it breaks beautifully.
So the next time you feel something you can’t explain, don’t rush to silence it. Don’t run from it. Sit with it. Let it burn, let it breathe, let it whisper. Because those are the things of the heart. They’re not here to make sense. They’re here to make you feel alive.
The world may forget logic, but it never forgets how you made someone feel. And that, exactly that, is where your real power lives.
As always...
Be loud. Be raw. BeVociferous. — RV Lúcido
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