I first noticed my abnormal heartbeat in Duluth, Minnesota. Standing across the canal from you separated by water and the waves waves waves. I still swear to this day that it was your breath I heard mingling with the hush of water. The next time I notice my heart we’re at the hospital. You tell me to uncross my ankles and hold out my wrist your thumb brushing over the more delicate part of its skin and your stethoscope cold on my throat. It’s only a one-two-three four before you’re pulling away my pulse going with you. I don’t care if I have to live with arrhythmia live with the pills and the appointments and the lack of a steady thump thump thump in my chest. Just the ghost of the feel of your thumb on my pulse point on my wrist on my neck curving behind my ear and my hand on your heart with your thump thump thump, will keep my blood flowing. I’m a girl with a broken heart and I’m in love with a cardiologist.