Even when we’re pressing snooze and rolling over in bed, folding ourselves into our covers and postponing the day’s bubbling over, and soon after notching cold butter on warm toast, or later coming to a halt as we bound up a flight of subway stairs only to stall behind an elderly woman whose left leg trails behind her right leg-one leaden step at a time-even then, when time decelerates and the relative importance of our lives, of our hurry, undergoes a sudden, essential audit even then, our heart never stops.Įven when a name I’ve long ignored-blotted from my mind in order to safeguard some good sense-pops up bold in my inbox. That beats-did you know?-more than one hundred thousand times a day. And not, as I later discovered while scrolling through an emoji glossary online: “Love Hotel.” I was sure the building stood for all matters having to do with that four-chambered, fist-shaped muscle we carry-that carries us-with constancy. Just a stand-alone building that, until recently, I thought stood for “Cardiologist.” The H and its accompanying heart were an expression of, in my mind, heart hospital. Unlike the “house” emoji, for instance, this one has zero greenery: no shrubs, no tree. The building’s roof is maroon, and an awning, also pink, shelters its two-door entranceway. This emoji is further detailed with a letter H-pink too, but more or less magenta-that hangs on its front and is matched in size by a pink heart floating above the building’s extension like a shiny Mylar balloon escaping into the sky. I counted them and double-checked because extra-small things bring out the extra-small person in me who sometimes even triple-checks things who still chances certainty might exist in asking, “Promise me?”
#Dragons vein rarify windows#
Six windows going up: three square, three rectangular. Smaller than an apple seed, crumb-sized-if that-it stands six stories high.
THERE’S an emoji on my phone that I’ve never used, of a shell-pink tower-block building with blue windows.
0 kommentar(er)
