Not sure of the relevance

Both my arms ache.
They're stiff.
They feel heavy and thick with rock.
Not strong, just sore.

I've been reading, maybe my arms hurt from holding the book to my eye-line, maybe not.

My fella paid off his library fines so I could use his card, mine has too many fines to even consider paying it off. When we go to the library we always seem to be in a hurry, so I rush to the recommended section, first getting sidetracked by the temporary 'books with recipes'. I look over the titles and covers with such delicious enjoyment and pick some at random that 'tickle my fancy', judging the books solely by their covers and the way they light me up.

Anyway, I have been reading and I've just finished a book.  The type of book that makes me smile widely out loud and walk with a visible 'spring'. The type of book that towards the end made my eyes grow bigger and move faster across the page.The type of book that had me silently weeping, my body gently convulsing over it.

The book I was reading said this thing, this thing that sung  to me.

"You are scored on my heart"

I have been thinking about my heart today, the real pumping life giving muscle and that metaphorical but still real one. My fella is scored on my heart in the most beautiful and imaginable way possible, like the most beautiful tattoo on could imagine, a work of art, an etching. Someone else is scored on my heart in a deep itching scar, an old wound that wont heal.

It was his birthday today, not my fella's, someone else's. I texted and sent 'all my love' he replied to say he ha had one  of those turns. One of those turns he had a lot before his heart gave out again and again. He needed a quadruple bypass. Five veins taken from his arms and thighs were put as little bypasses, like the ones you meet when a road is blocked by roadworks or dangerous weather. For some time his heart was replaced my a machine, it lived for him. Today I had to remind myself that his heart was still beating. I ad to remind myself that my own heart is still beating. His blood is in my blood. What if my heart was made up of  a slice of his heart?  I feel selfish.

I told my fella how I feel, how I've always felt selfish for how alone, how much pain and fear I had when he had his bypass', how big a part of my life it has been when he was the one who had his life dependent on a machine. My fella soothed my fear, took away my guilt and made me realise I was no longer alone with a few honest sentences and the right look.

My heart has been scored.

I have been reading.

My arms ache.

I'm not sure of the relevance.