“The heart is a hollow muscle.” This explains a lot. It’s a functioning metronome and a port for blood, for oxygen. It doesn’t fill, it circulates and transports, a meddlesome middleman.
It can be too large or too small. It can go too fast or too slow.
It cooperates and competes in a constant power struggle with the brain. They bicker. They complain. We can only help to a certain degree. It can wash away the pebble-sized concerns and worries when it stops, for it is the primalest concern.
If I designed the heart, it wouldn’t have an expiration date.