The Heart is Deceitful

Called my pop yesterday, for an obligatory (estranged) father's day greeting. I don't remember the last time I actually spoke with him on the phone. For some reason, he asked me about my heart. A number of years ago, I started getting these random heart palpitations. It's not too uncommon. When it first started, I was freaked out by them, but I learned how to control them. I've been getting them a bit more recently, but I figure it's the heat and the slight bump in exercise. But I lied to my dad and said I haven't had any. What's the point of raising concern?
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What's the threat in saying "I love you" to someone? The heart is deceitful. What's the power in a string of words? There are a lot of things a person can say without meaning. Even if I'm looking you dead in the eyes. Especially.
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I miss prose. I try to incorporate it into the dialogue of scripts as much as I can, but it's not the same. It's partly the reason I juggle so many blogs. (As much of a joke as it's become to keep a blog.) But a blog is not a story -- not in a traditional sense -- and this one certainly isn't prose. At least, not the prose I miss writing.
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And what if you say something to someone with complete sincerity in your heart? Unless you specify a timeframe (i.e., "forever" or "for the next three days"), isn't it implied that you mean "for now"? Right now, in this moment, with no future promises.

"I hate you."

"I need you."

"I wish you were dead."
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I bought a new bag on Friday. I have a new bag.