misplaced heart

IT SEEMS I’VE LOST IT AGAIN. And it has been misplaced and later returned so many times before – always a bit more banged up than last I’d left it – that I’ve nearly forgotten where it’s gone and disappeared to this time; in whose reckless hands I’d lain it to rest; which familiar stranger swayed me to believe they would handle with care.

And here I am again, scrambling to find it, searching beneath the bed and inside every closet. I toss and turn deep into the dark night, anxious and filled with white hot worry that perhaps I’ve finally lost it forever. Maybe this last time really was the last time; maybe its faded edges and nicks in the center had decided they’d taken enough beatings.  They were raising a white flag into the sky.  They were tired of fighting for the love that never seemed to stick.

I curse myself for my carelessness; chew on my fingernails and wonder why I’d been so impulsive as to give away my most valued possession. And why had I ever anticipated that anyone might hold it so delicately in the palms of their own two hands, after I’d offered it up like yesterday’s news.  How could anyone see its worth if I myself so clearly could not?

And so I throw back the blankets and embark out into the night to find the heart of me; the one I keep giving away to all the wrong owners. I must find it.  I must get it back.  I must love it, hold it and fiercely protect it.  And when the time comes that I might find another tapping on the doors of my chest, asking to be welcomed in, I’ll make sure my heart is strong enough to trust itself.  I’ll make sure it has enough love inside before it goes looking for validation anywhere else.

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