𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “To All the Hearts That Pump Blood” by Shawn Pangan

Layout by: Shawn Pangan

Published by: Kristine Caye Emono

Date Published: June 1, 2025

Time Published: 12:45 PM

Category: Prose

Subject: Friendship/Acceptance

Two beautiful boys were brought upon this world.

They were the same, they thought. They watched the same shows; they played with the same toys; they sang the same songs; they both grew.

Away from their grounds that never felt like home, they discovered one another. Two souls in a reverie who ached for warmth, who craved for friendship.

It wasn’t a matter of obligation; it was more of a natural, inevitable fate, as the way they sprouted mirrored one another. While the fragments of their sufferings brought them closer, their pact filled their surroundings with colors less dull.

For reasons unknown, boys their age saw their friendship as a target. His friend, for his crooked tooth, and he, for his peculiar demeanor. There were words that shouldn’t be coming out of anyone’s mouths: You’re like a girl! You’re like a monster! Profanities, profanities, and the puzzling question: Are you a couple?

“Of course!” They wanted to yell, though not of the things they’d assume. Why not embrace the term, the very word? “Couple”, a pair, a duo—it’s an understatement, anyhow. They were, in fact, just that. No, even more; two people, inseparable.

Those slanders never pained him, no matter how hard they tried. Yet, each time, he’d glance at his friend to decipher a reaction, a flinch, or disgust. But there was always nothing.

They were still the same; they still thought—even if everyone else kept telling them otherwise. One thing, though: although it didn’t hurt him, it did scare him. Because were they? Were they the same?

A few seasons passed, and they witnessed it together, mostly inside a quiet room. The rustling of the wind, the melting of the snow, the falling of the leaves, and then, the first bloom of words:

“I like her, you know? I’d fly too close to the sun if she was there.”

“I feel the same about him, too.”

“Him?”

“I’d rearrange the stars if it made him smile.”

The lamp flickers. A pause.

“I guess mine makes me Icarus—who would you be?”

“Perhaps I’m Superman, and you’re insane.”

After a silence, laughter echoed.

“Well, who’s he?”

“You really don’t mind?”

He looked at him for a minute, then: “Why would I?”

He already knew—this was merely a confirmation. But it didn’t bother his friend, just as much as it didn’t bother him that he knew. He always wanted him to know, in some way, even without saying it.

Why would he be bothered, anyway? After all, their bodies did the same thing—their eyes both see, they both cry, their tongues both taste, their lungs both breathe, their brains both think. Most importantly, their hearts both love. With it, both their hearts feel softer, more delicate.

“We’re all the same, without a doubt. We all fall; we all love; we all bleed; we all hurt.”