The Love Octopus
Octopus Traps in Japan
The typical presentation of takotsubo cardiomyopathy is a sudden onset of congestive heart failure associated with ECG changes mimicking a myocardial infarction of the anterior wall. During the course of evaluation of the patient, a bulging out of the left ventricular apex with a hypercontractile base of the left ventricle is often noted. It is the hallmark bulging out of the apex of the heart with preserved function of the base that earned the syndrome its name "tako tsubo", or octopus pot in Japan, where it was first described.[5]
I often wonder about love.
What love really means. How much power does it have. For a long time it has been my favorite word. Can really one die of a broken heart? Apparently, yes.
I wonder why the Japanese named the syndrome after an octopus pot. Was it because a broken heart resembles the pot? Merely? Or was it because the heart feels that way? The heart feels heavy and quiet and elongated?
A heavy heart carrying around a silent octopus inside of the body of a sick person, but luckily not for long.
A person who was abandoned. Suddenly.
Suddenly the death of a loved one, brings another death.
And the octopus just hides in there. Full of eyes and ideas.
Quiet guest, in a shattered heart.
Little does she know, the octopus, that it will die.
Eventually.
But the love didn't die.
Interestingly enough it's so alive that it kills.
How does one mend a broken heart?
Take my heart for example. I feel it pulsating. Tired. Heavy.
Bleeding. Hiding a growing octopus.
But then again the broken heart syndrome is quick.
So I quickly write a self-diagnosis:
Hypothesis -Takotsubo excluded.
But still. I feel the octopus silently growing inside of my heart.
My heart, fast and fragile. Sheltering this big creature that frightens my entire body.
Takotsubo? No. What could it be, then? The pain of having loved and now, just now begin to understand that the silence began the first time we went to the beach.
This massive octopus-like silence is all you.
Have the Japanese created other words for a broken heart?
What else do they know about love that I am still ignoring?
The rain was heavy in the boat this morning. My skin got soaked and I was cold.
Haven't had you in a while to hold me. And this solitude just doesn't sit well with me.
I get restless. I can't sleep. The octopus moves a little. And my heart just stops for a second.
Hope doesn't work here at the moment.
I told the guy at the counter today that I am ready.
Let's break the pot.
Let's take the octopus to the ocean. His freedom is well deserved.
One can't love more than I have loved you; therefore, the octopus is made of pure love.
The quietness of the ocean when one goes far from the shore, in a rainy day.
And the rest is silence.
What love really means. How much power does it have. For a long time it has been my favorite word. Can really one die of a broken heart? Apparently, yes.
I wonder why the Japanese named the syndrome after an octopus pot. Was it because a broken heart resembles the pot? Merely? Or was it because the heart feels that way? The heart feels heavy and quiet and elongated?
A heavy heart carrying around a silent octopus inside of the body of a sick person, but luckily not for long.
A person who was abandoned. Suddenly.
Suddenly the death of a loved one, brings another death.
And the octopus just hides in there. Full of eyes and ideas.
Quiet guest, in a shattered heart.
Little does she know, the octopus, that it will die.
Eventually.
But the love didn't die.
Interestingly enough it's so alive that it kills.
How does one mend a broken heart?
Take my heart for example. I feel it pulsating. Tired. Heavy.
Bleeding. Hiding a growing octopus.
But then again the broken heart syndrome is quick.
So I quickly write a self-diagnosis:
Hypothesis -Takotsubo excluded.
But still. I feel the octopus silently growing inside of my heart.
My heart, fast and fragile. Sheltering this big creature that frightens my entire body.
Takotsubo? No. What could it be, then? The pain of having loved and now, just now begin to understand that the silence began the first time we went to the beach.
This massive octopus-like silence is all you.
Have the Japanese created other words for a broken heart?
What else do they know about love that I am still ignoring?
The rain was heavy in the boat this morning. My skin got soaked and I was cold.
Haven't had you in a while to hold me. And this solitude just doesn't sit well with me.
I get restless. I can't sleep. The octopus moves a little. And my heart just stops for a second.
Hope doesn't work here at the moment.
I told the guy at the counter today that I am ready.
Let's break the pot.
Let's take the octopus to the ocean. His freedom is well deserved.
One can't love more than I have loved you; therefore, the octopus is made of pure love.
The quietness of the ocean when one goes far from the shore, in a rainy day.
And the rest is silence.
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