The way we talk about things matters. The metaphors we choose to frame our perspective affect our lives experience. It's a marvel to me.
Take, for instance, your heart. Already a metaphorical organ as the instrument we use to love (a kind of schenectady, no?).
But a common metaphor is that when we love, we give our heart to the person we love. When you think of giving your heart away, what does that heart look like to you? For me, it is small, small enough to fit in my hands in order to be handed over. It also feels light and fragile - easily broken, easily lost. The person to whom I've given my heart then looms even larger, and has awesome power to heart me, and they can break my small, fragile heart. What am I left with in that case? Picking up sharp shards of this delicate thing that is so important to me and so easily broken by another.
Now, if you will indulge me, let's change the metaphor. Your heart, the metaphorical origin of love, is the home of love. It is your love's home. Imagine a sturdy structure with a strong foundation. Imagine the space within, sheltered from life's vagaries, warm and secure. What if, to love someone, you invite them into the home of your heart with you, to share that space? They are a guest, and it's up to you how long they are welcome and how much of your home they can see.
It's still true that a rude guest, or an ungrateful one, can do damage to your heart. They can make a mess or scuff the floor, or maybe even demo some rooms. But you can escort them out, and you can always restore and/or rebuild your home. It remains there for you whatever others' comings and goings may be.
I find this metaphor much more helpful when I think about my heart and about loving someone.
