The Paper Heart

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The wait is over

She is his remedy.

The harbor beaming a breathe of life into his dying lungs. The fresh air reviving his heart from suffocation.

No ocean is too deep that he wouldn’t risk life and limb to reach the warmth of her caress.

The love he has for her is not water under the bridge. It is the crashing waves on celestial shore lines.

The world could not possibly grasp the magnitude of her depth. Yet he would drown in those waters if she called it a thing of beauty.

For now he wades through her words in the daylight. Waiting for a visit from her through the pages of expression.

Wet with her gentle refreshment longing for an authentic taste of her poetic tongue.

Eyesight is not needed to see the fullness of who she is. He is looking only with his heart.

She is his goddess holding a proverbial pen. Writing love notes on his fierce exterior.

A literary force breaking barriers into mosaic pieces at his feet.

She is the moonbeam he has been sleeping under.

The figment tiptoeing through his dreams awakening his senses in the dark.

She is all things encompassing wishful thinking.

He is her majestic maestro.

He pulls the strings of her glorious instrument with gentle precision.

Images of his intent direct her into a smooth rhythmic dance.

She often daydreams of his body moving toward her from across a room.

The feel of his confident hands gliding over her every groove. He is her rhyme and her reason.

The muse peeling layer upon layer to the center piece of her truth.

She is not one for opening her secret garden to the atmosphere. Yet somehow he holds the master key to unlocking her creative soul.

She has longed for a man of his caliber. Far too weary of thumbing through the bitter chapters of fleeting romance.

He is the fresh page awaiting the story only she could produce. A novel worthy to be written.

One day their limbs will be at rest from walking toward one another in dreams.

One day affirming with outstretched arms they are one in this moment and always have been.

In a whisper she shall speak to him of poems unwritten and songs unsung.

He will watch her lips move in reality.

She will watch him exhale with sighs of thankfulness.

The multitude of meaning from one small phrase “the wait is over.”

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Old Flames

When my eyes met yours and our shoulders brushed in the crowd it all came flooding back.

I didn’t expect it.

My heart was not prepared to flip and flop. At first I ignored it. Reminded myself of the words and phrases I had recited so long.

Over.

Acceptance.

It was only real for me.

It was fleeting.

A few moments really.

He is happy.

You are happy.

He doesn’t love you.

You no longer love him.

Move. On.

I’m not sure who this girl is. The girl who flopped her heart out in a crowd and stapled it to a sleeve. Welcome back bleeding soul.

I am the expert on letting go and turning tables. I am the girl who washes my hands clean of things that don’t stay. Easy. But who knew in your sight my strength would crumble.

I wasn’t prepared.

The fist clenching my throat for what seems eternity loosened its grip. I finally just threw every word into the wind and let them fall like confetti.

I told you I love you. I told you many things. I walked away from you without a touch. Without a moment of interlaced hands.

Yet standing there exchanging thought warped my body into imagination. What I wanted to do was put my arms around you to see if I still fit the same as I remembered.

But I didn’t.

I let the moment sit in what it was meant to be. A chance meeting of unexpected. An opportunity to tell you that I will most likely always be tangled up in the could have been. Wrapped up in the briefness of our beauty.

Again, I wasn’t prepared.

I thought my insides had finalized this for me. I will always fail to fully understand why we didn’t bridge the vast gap between us.

I will always wonder if you and I are thinking of each other in the present while in the midst of creating futures with others.

I will always wonder why letting me go was so seamless for you.

I will always wonder if what you said to me was your truth or a response based on the tears welling as I said goodbye.

I hope you know that my heart leaps gracefully when I think of your found happiness. I want that for you.

I would be lying however to say I don’t envy your strength in release of me.

I will tell you that it is my firm belief we could have written chapters of a beautiful life together.

We could have been all the things we spoke of. The nights we laid nose to nose talking of plans and expressing the areas we complemented each other’s lives so perfectly. The dreams we could have made a reality. The foundation we and our children could have planted their feet firmly on.

I now know what those stories I read are about. I’m living it. The people that create worlds with one person yet take the longing for another to their graves.

I love you. I probably always will. You were my person. I know that for sure.

Today as I greet the morning I promise I will take my hands off of the past. I may write of you, of us from time to time as we are a brilliant muse but I revert back to what my mind told me prior to greeting your face.

Bittersweet release.

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