What do I do with this love in my chest:
I let it roam the room because when it is stuck inside it feels repressed, and I hear it when I come back from work banging on the door

Some days it shows up on one of my walks
and I let linger by my side
I acknowledge it so
I speak to it “ this is a normal part of getting older isn’t it ...the getting your heart ripped out, right ?”
it answers “ only metaphorically”

Sometimes it’s an unexpected coffee shop song that like a lamp that is stroked three times lets the genie out
“Make three wishes” it utters in my direction

“First that only good comes of this”
“Second, that there be light which illuminates him for the rest of his days”
“ three: that this makes me a kinder human being”