Sometimes, I can feel my heartbeat in my leg. Or in my arm. Or behind my eyes. If someone were to put their hand where I felt my heartbeat, they could feel it too. Sometimes, I can see my hearbeat through the skin in my leg. Like my heart is really there. Instead of in my chest. Behind my ribs. I don't know why this is, why this happens. But it does.
Today, I felt my heartbeat in my thigh and I watched it beat until I grew tired with it and put my hand over it to forget. I made pancakes with apples and bacon and onions and mushrooms in the batter and melted butter on top of it. Butter is beautiful in all its states. As a liquid, it is gold. As a solid, it is gold. As a gas, I'd like to imagine it as gold. It is precious.
I ate my pancakes. They were delicious. And the whole time, I'd had my hand over the heartbeat in my thigh, so I lifted the hand and watched a tiny part of my flesh tremble. Maybe my heart had floated down into my leg. Impossible!
Tomorrow, the hearbeat will have moved back into my chest, where it belongs. And I will have forgotten about its place in my leg today. But it's something else.
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