Monday morning, I leave my sweetheart’s bed, heart full, head to my own home. The subway car holds a handful of people. Across the car, a head-phoned man recites rap lyrics under his breath. The woman nearest me on the bench softly sings along with her iPod, some R&B refrain. The sounds melt together delightfully in unlikely harmony, supporting one another, providing context like playing cards leaning against each other. For a moment, it’s as if I were tuning into the sound of each subway rider’s heart, even the silent passengers offer their breath as percussion. I fantasize about being a maestro of the songs of hearts, a subtle body hype man, a love conductor. My stop approaches quickly. I walk home taller, smiling, nearly skipping.