If only my heart was like a lint trap. I could just pull it out every once in a while and clean out all the junk I didn’t like or want to hang onto. I could prevent build up of layers and layers of uncertainty. Put out the fires before they even started. Get all that anxiety and exhausting emotional turmoil to just leave me alone for a little while. Scoop out and trash all that decaying bitterness and festering hopelessness. Or repurpose other feelings, like some do withlint,and make something abstract and beautiful, like cotton paper. Something useful. Turn those emotions into works of art, instead of the clumps of ugly fuzz they become.