Maybe you’re blissful, and that is understandable. Those pretty, little hearts, well, they proliferate, and what are you going to do about that? They truly are everywhere you turn. Every February, you are guaranteed to endure the commercial onslaught of these lovey-dovey symbols of St. Valentine. They are plastered to every wall you see. Every conceivable variety of candy bears their shape, as well as those trite expressions of distilled, homogenized love. The sheer pervasiveness of the heart has ensured that this simple shape, which is not much more than geometric, has been burned into our nations’ collective consciousness. Everyone knows the shape; its simplicity only compounds its hold over all of those lovesick minds. It starts at a single point. Then, it extends out and up in opposite directions, only to double back and meet again in between two gently rolling hills. No doubt, every person in America has traced this well-known shape onto paper in a moment of either lovelorn longing or sheer boredom.

Though other symbols of Valentine’s holiday do exist, none is so omnipresent as the heart, or, more accurately, what is accepted as the heart. This is the image called to mind by the word heart.

This, however, is not a heart. What is the heart then, if not a simple, little symbol? In actuality, the heart is the holy mother of all blood pumps, the King Kong of the circulatory system, if you will. It is one large muscle that you do not want to mess with. With every one of it’s contractions, the heart shoots millions of crimson blood cells throughout the body, providing it with oxygen. Should the heart cease it’s constant contractions, well, then you might have a little trouble finishing of that gargantuan bowl of pistachio pudding.

But pudding aside, everyone knows of what the real heart is capable, but it seems that it is convenient to forget what the darn thing really looks like. Well, it looks like this.

After looking at the heart, in all it's glory, the question that comes to mind is, "Why is this pulsating mess of veins shouldered aside for the aforementioned symbol?" Doesn't the vitality and constancy of the actual heart provide a more apt symbol of love?

The fact that it is a pulsating mess of veins may have something to do with its expulsion from our holiday lexicon.

The prospect of eating candy shaped like one of your internal organs, might be a bit unappetizing. Also, the sight of a card covered with blood and arteries wouldn't exactly play to the softer side of the holiday.

Even if the real heart is not a viable commercial symbol, it doesn't get it's fair share of publicity or respect. After all, most people aren't even exposed to the heart, save for on a few wildly disparate occasions. Sure, you might see the heart in a Biology textbook or on an EKG or X-ray, However, one of the most prominent displayings of the heart comes in Steven Spielbierg's Indianna Jones and the Temple of Doom, when the creepy cult leader guy rips one from the chest of a terrified peasant.

That doesn't really fit with the Valentine's Day theme though. So, here is one last plea on behalf of the real heart. Without such a wondrous blood pump, you would, most probably have a hard time living. I’m guessing that it would be similar to living without love. Well, not exactly like living without love, but possibly somewhat similar, at least in a few ways. Well, maybe in only one way. They both cause pain. They cause very different types of pain. Which is what makes it such a great fit.

But don't just take my word for it, sit down and have a serious conversation about it with your parents. Maybe you could do some serious reasearch to further enrich our collective understanding on this whole heart issue. Go. Go now and do not return until you have done as I say. The idea of you doing so is mildy humorous to me. Seriously, though, if you spend too much time not thinking about those simple pink and red thingies we call hearts, they start to make some kind of crazy sense. While this may not seem like such an important issue, it actually is quite serious. I mean, who wants to worry about all the pain and suffering in the world when we can spend hours splitting hairs over how our organs are drawn on packages and posters. It's so much nicer to worry about frills and laces sometimes.