I hear the music. I feel the mood. I write of a heart as it speaks to my mind, body and soul. Most of the time the heart is my own, but sometimes I listen to yours. Sometimes I listen to others. Sometimes I listen as yours speak to others; sometimes, as it speaks to mine.

Most of the time it speaks quietly; sometimes, it doesn’t. Most of the time the heart is joyful; sometimes, it isn’t. And most of the time it shows exactly what it is; but sometimes it does anything but.

All of the time though . . . whether it’s my heart, your heart or the heart of others . . . all of the time it is doing exactly what a heart should be allowed to do.

Whisper, as we listen; to you, to me, to each other.

I hear the music. I feel the mood.
I write . . . of hearts as they whisper.