Young at heart

unknown photographer
unknown photographer

Failure and freedom: I wrote of this Monday – cheekily mentioning about not staying in heartbreak hotel.

How prescient. Tuesday evening, I cried with the fella as we watched our hearts break in a good hard decision towards focusing on shoring up a family and a future.

The grief – the weight of the loss – is real.
At one point, this amazing human said how foolish we are to chastise teenagers for their feelings when – as adults – we feel so much. At least he and I do and it has been one of the sweetest parts of this almost-year adventure; we are both so young at heart.

That night, I cried and reached out to family of blood and heart.
Yesterday with little sleep, I trundled off to work and found a tiny waterfall spilling and dripping upon my desk. Great.
The team tumbled in and provided distraction, action, laughter, and side-by-side work which staved the deeper feels.
This morning, my run/walk included a trip to Flint Hills Discovery Center’s top story patio as the sun rose over Manhattan. Beetles and bunnies joined my run up the stairs as a rare breeze blew through the sunflowers, echinacea, last of the butterfly milkweed, and birds. I felt strong and hopeful.
Until the quiet returned and my uncried tears threatened to show.

So here I am writing this heartbeat out in validation of the risk of loving another. I need to write it out so I can get back to concentrating and work.

Hear this: love is so worth the risk of loss. Healthy relationships are life’s bonuses. The joy I’ve experienced in exploring life and walking beside such a person has reminded me of who I am – imperfect, hopeful, energy-packed, and strong.

Now, I am taking my own advice: have the derring do to let the grief do its job while I remain open-hearted.
Last night (or was it this morning?) I could not sleep, but I could feel and I wrote those feelings down in a nearly illegible scrawl:

“Love cannot live
with only half a heart.

All of the grief and wishful thinking will not revive the dead half.

What is left to do is to make the dying half comfortable.
Cherish the loved and let the love die.
Wrap it in tapestry of whatever truth and tears emerge
before gently lowering it into the ground.

plod. plod. plod.

Let the wind and water and earth cover the broken heart.

With wisdom and patience,
in the place
where love once thrived
is a beautiful
raw heart.
Poised for life
poised to welcome love

It is a short life. One meant to be lived.
And loved.

Derring do, friends, will come. I can see the light of it through the weathering of my quieting heart.

P.S. I asked the fella’s permission to post and send this out into the world. He agreed.

4 thoughts on “Young at heart

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