The Heart

(c) Chezka Sunit
An Interpretation of The Only Exception by Paramore

In a world where names meant no meaning, I'd like to think of a house that Love built. A house of blood, sweat and tears. A house of his own.

It was a dream house. A place that would put you in a state of trance and plan what lies ahead in your life. A white house with picket fences with blue doors and window panes and, most especially, a porch. Everything there was rested on a green meadow where gentle winds will blow.

As Love sat on a chair in his porch one Sunday morning, he felt as if something was missing and gazed into the vastness beyond the field with lips partly parted and gentle eyes both longing for nothing that he knew of. And when he has come back from his thoughts, he reached for his cup of coffee, sweet but with no creamer, he extended his strong yet careful arm to the table beside him and calmly neared his cup to his mouth.

That night, he tossed and turned in his own bed, thinking of nothing but what was missing. He was self-sufficient, he believed, so the house must be lacking. Not him, but the house. And all that he thought of the rest of the night was a garden.

He dreaded that a garden was amiss but he did not have the talent to have one, for you see, that field of keeping things alive was not his forte, but he was one who was willing to try, and so asked a woman to help him filling up the cavities of his beliefs.

She was Fear. She shyly walked up to the land behind the house and closed her eyes to hear the grass grow. After she was done, she went back to Love, who was waiting by the back door, and accepted the offer. For days she tended the grounds like it was her own - seeding, watering, shoveling. And every single day of her job, Love was watching her. He noticed her uncanny demise, for she always dreaded about everything. which made her perfect for the job. Because of this, she was always prepared for the worst. She was careful and diligent because she wouldn't want to harm the plants. And then he saw her eyes.

There was something frightening about those green eyes which matched her pink-pale skin perfectly. They showed such remorse (though for no reason), hurt, pain, depth, mystery. Things men were afraid to grasp, she shown through her eyes. There was an endless void in them; It's as if if you came any closer, you'd fall endlessly with nothing to catch you - not even a bottom. There were faintly dark furrows beneath her eyes that strengthened the power of what they possessed. And yet, he understood.

Like most stories, they fell in love sooner than later. For you see, he knew something others couldn't about her: that out of the hurt and disturbances of her soul, she exudes care and carefulness. This, he believed, was his choice for a woman who'd be his wife. And out of this dogma, they had twin boys: Apathy and Jealousy. Apathy was never receptive to any emotion. He would not care, nor flinch, nor worry, nor feel. His parents have given him everything, yet he would still not respond. Jealousy was the spotlight person. He'd always asked for attention. Much to his dismay, given his brother's condition, he lacked of it and the deficiency would tear him down every night but would make him still thirsty and greedy for his parent's affection (though they have given him plenty).

The brothers had separate Identities. It were as if Apathy had the fear of love while Jealousy had the fear of love lost.

The parents however would bicker and shout because Fear could not accept that she was failing as a mother, failing to provide and failing to care. She could not cope though she was always calmed by looking at him. His stern hazel eyes that would watch her with no anger, no hate, no fire. A look that would make her melt and complete, masking all that has been in her past unfolded by her eyes. But no. She wouldn't give in. Not this time, the nth of times that could have ended in a bed wearing next to nothing. Her psyche was taking control and she's breaking down and running away. For good? We won't know. He tried to stop her, you know. He held her in his arms, tried to wrap himself and give his all in just a hug and buried his face in her brown hair, hot tears down his face.

The next thing we knew, she's on a train leading to nowhere, speaking to someone inside of her, crying and calling her "Hope".

Hope is the only good thing out of fear and love.