Pretty Heart
Parker McCollum made a pretty song (with requisite country twang) in Pretty Heart. The last time I heard it, I was getting my hair cut. I have heard it many times, and every time, I think of a particular man and a particular woman, and the things that man should say to that woman. I wished many times he would have turned around, repented of breaking her pretty heart so many ways for so many years, and put their lives back together. I prayed that literally thousands of times. No, that man is not me, though I wish he was because that woman would say yes in an instant if she heard the right words from the right man. I have the words, and he is the man. We just have to put those things together.
If I could, I would tear my heart from my chest and replace that man's heart. I would take the words that exist in my mind and put them in his. I would sacrifice myself to put that man and woman back together, if I could. And he would say those precious words and do those necessary things.
The lyrics don't completely match, of course. They aren't in Austin. And I doubt that man drinks, for instance, because he is a fitness freak, easily twice my size and 10 times as muscled. He exceeds me in every way, physically. I struggle with country songs because of all the drinking and hopelessness, and, increasingly, the casual sex. But especially the drinking. It is a hallmark of country music, which is increasingly urbanized, as we see in the video, which doesn't really match the feel of the song. But, people in cities listen to country music, too. Not a fence post in sight, though. Use your imagination, I guess.
The first time she pushed me out of her life when I was still a young man, it was for that man, and she loved him while I was trying — and failing — to make her mine. She was solidly with him when she let me go that first time, and I've never been so disappointed with losing anything as I was then. That tailspin lasted decades. I never recovered and remember it well even now. Her letting me go the second time, of course, made sense, but, oh, did I hope for something else. If I could take this bleeding, battered heart that loves that woman with such a fierce and lasting love and put it in that man, I know this story would be over, and maybe it already is, and maybe he has already found those words and performed those things. Maybe he's already made her his again. I don't know, and it is none of my business. I look on from hundreds of miles away and wonder, and I'll probably never know. But I hope for the best for them. Because that pretty heart deserves the best.
I wish he would gently pull her close to his chest, look deeply in her eyes, and say the words he has to say, and mean it. And then cleanse his life of everything hurtful and poisonous to that pretty heart of hers, and make it trust in him again. For all our sakes, I wish he would just do what needs to be done. Maybe as I write this, he's doing just that. Maybe tomorrow or next week. I know her heart keeps waiting and hoping, and I long for him to make it real. I wish he would wrap her up in those big arms and she could feel his beating heart — and know that this time he means those words. If that man was me, I would say those words and do those things, and this long, hard battle would be over and won. That pretty heart would have a home once again and would wander, and wonder, no more. That is my prayer.
It is as far-flung a thought as I can have, I admit, and I hesitate to even include it here, but should that pretty heart ever come back to me, I know it would be safe. I know, for her, I would be a consolation prize, but a consolation prize that won't hurt her, nonetheless. I know what it is like to carry around a broken heart and how one behaves with such a thing in one's chest, and I know what to do and what not to do. The love I have for that woman would sacrifice everything and stop at nothing to make sure she is safe. That's why I would give it all up to make all of this up to her, to set things aright, even though it wasn't me who broke her heart. I know, all of that is a fantasy. That's why I'd give my heart to that man so he would do it instead, even if it killed me, and it would. I'd die with a smile on my face, knowing that pretty heart wouldn't ever worry again.
Thank you for reading, and God bless.
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