Of course my thoughts and feelings seem ever changing and what I loved about today I may not feel any attachment to tomorrow (metaphorically) but this is still one of my favorite writings…I don’t know if that is what you call it, is it a poem or prose. Heck, I just like it.
When I was writing it I was looking back on a relationship, sure that it had been horrible only to see how lucky I was for the encounter, how much broader it made the way I considered what I wanted in my life and from living.
worn from trial and battle,
scraped bare from neglect
and carelessness
when I found you.
My heart, paper thin,
very nearly
translucent in the sun,
the palest pink,
almost white.
Stilled,
barely beating out the faintest sound;
cotton balls thrown against her.
Your heart matched mine,
paper thin
but of tin
and not so easily seen through.
You took my paper heart,
told me it was fine,
held it
and crafted it into something folded
and scored,
adorned with creases
and secret pockets
until it was something new,
something to hold and cradle
and then you breathed into it
words
and stories
and ideas.
You handed it back,
told me to use my own breath
and to fill it.
I did
and it ballooned into a paper heart,
magical and three dimensional,
origami,
scored and folded into my heart.
Something bigger,
full…
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