A Bleeding Heart, surrounded by Weighty Thoughts, felt ambushed. It felt like it needed to be as authoritative as its planetary cohabitants. For, mark, these Thoughts were shaped as it, the Heart, was. They appeared to possess the same winding arteries that criss-crossed its own schema. Rational the Bleeding Heart was, and it could not ignore the way the Thoughts progressed about their ways, for, to ignore what was in front of you was to ignore truth, as far as you knew it. What could the Heart do but Bleed?
"Was I born to Bleed?" whimpered the Heart.
By all functional edicts, a heart is, indeed, meant to bleed. But, in staunch uprising, it had now become rather mistrustful of the PuppetMaster, Who implied, by means too subtle not to pay heed to, that it, the Heart, was ordained to Bleed. The PuppetMaster told the Heart it was supposed to ignore the smooth, facile way in which the Thoughts fulfilled their tasks and whims. The Thoughts, the Heart was admonished, would always be, for the Heart, an edifice of discontent; that which it, the Heart, could never adhere to. That was the way it was, spake the PuppetMaster.
The Heart made up its mind. It would not be thus subjugated. It would be a Heart freed from the evolutionary imperative of Bleeding. It would be renegade, and a happier Heart it would be for it. Its blood would no longer be called upon as payment for its existence. It would serve its captors in other ways - through a mindful love and admiration. It would be easy to love them, after all. They would be worshiped for their ascendancy in a set of parameters it valued in a bodily organ; and in idolising its captors, it would set its own ideals upon a hallowed pedestal. And, with this promise, the Heart began to pump its blood for itself once more. And it had a Hearty laugh with every pulse.