Feb 2017
My heart sat still in the attic, carefully boxed up and tucked away in the corner for an unknown time and place.
I would take it out from time to time, examining it to see if it still worked. It was covered in marks from those whom I had offered it to. Some were gentle, leaving only thumb prints, but others were careless and left bruises, scrapes or cuts. The scars went deep in places and still caused pain when touched, while others were barely noticeable. With each new scar my heart became more calloused and yet more fragile, and I shared it less and less, scared it might break irreparably. So I packaged it up, tightly bound, stored it away in the recesses where it would be safe from harm.
And there it sat, in the corner of my attic, collecting dust, beating slower, slower still, until the pulse was barely perceptible as it faded to grey.
But then came you. You were charming, kind, loving. You opened yourself up to me, shared your heart freely, showing me how easy it could be. Your heart was bruised and battered, too, but you did not let that stop you. The scars made yours stronger, more vibrant, more lively than before. You let me hold it, offered it to me, told me its stories, and we shared your vibrant heart. It was wonderful, but we both knew one heart--however strong--could not support two people.
With gentle words you asked to see my damaged heart, with gentle breaths you blew the dust away, with gentle hands you undid the bindings on the box. You gingerly cupped my battered heart, massaged it back to life, held it close and assured me it would be safe with you.
I was distrustful at first, scared you would damage it even more. But as the hours turned to days and the days turned to weeks, you faithfully cared for my heart with your kind words, caring actions, tender touches.
For so long I was afraid of letting this happen, of giving my heart to another, but you are showing me it's okay to try, okay to trust, okay to love. You are showing me a life I never knew I could have, and moment by moment, touch by touch, word by word, you are bringing my heart new life.
I would take it out from time to time, examining it to see if it still worked. It was covered in marks from those whom I had offered it to. Some were gentle, leaving only thumb prints, but others were careless and left bruises, scrapes or cuts. The scars went deep in places and still caused pain when touched, while others were barely noticeable. With each new scar my heart became more calloused and yet more fragile, and I shared it less and less, scared it might break irreparably. So I packaged it up, tightly bound, stored it away in the recesses where it would be safe from harm.
And there it sat, in the corner of my attic, collecting dust, beating slower, slower still, until the pulse was barely perceptible as it faded to grey.
But then came you. You were charming, kind, loving. You opened yourself up to me, shared your heart freely, showing me how easy it could be. Your heart was bruised and battered, too, but you did not let that stop you. The scars made yours stronger, more vibrant, more lively than before. You let me hold it, offered it to me, told me its stories, and we shared your vibrant heart. It was wonderful, but we both knew one heart--however strong--could not support two people.
With gentle words you asked to see my damaged heart, with gentle breaths you blew the dust away, with gentle hands you undid the bindings on the box. You gingerly cupped my battered heart, massaged it back to life, held it close and assured me it would be safe with you.
I was distrustful at first, scared you would damage it even more. But as the hours turned to days and the days turned to weeks, you faithfully cared for my heart with your kind words, caring actions, tender touches.
For so long I was afraid of letting this happen, of giving my heart to another, but you are showing me it's okay to try, okay to trust, okay to love. You are showing me a life I never knew I could have, and moment by moment, touch by touch, word by word, you are bringing my heart new life.
