There’s a tornado raging in this heart of mine. Opposing winds creating a whirlwind, a vortex, a smattering of things flying every-which direction. A spiral of destruction, devastation, annihilation. Ripped and wrenched apart. Torn loose from the foundation, spun around, shot out the side, the top, landing in new places, before unseen, unheard. Heart broken apart by hundred mile an hour winds.
For what? Why? What’s the reason? The purpose?
Because, sweet heart, that’s what hearts do.
They break and they burst. They crack and crumble. They shatter and collapse.
Because they aren’t actually ours.
This heart, beating here in my chest is not mine to have and to hold, to cherish and keep safe. No. It is meant to be given away, piece by fragmented piece in every moment, with every breath.
It is not a vessel for storage. The heart is a muscle, a pump that runs the circulatory system. Things don’t remain in one place; they circulate.
I am simply a traveler through the chambers of this heart.
It is not mine; it is not yours. These rooms are meant to be passed through. Linger, only for a moment, to take it in – the taste, the texture, the temperature – for it will never be exactly this ever again. And then, let it go, again and again
because it’s not yours to hang on to
never will be
always will be
You aren’t yours to hang on to. You’re a vehicle. A point in space and time where all of these things collude in a miraculous, beautiful, unique, perfect way. You are a confluence of streams.
So let them flow through because, really, what else is there to do?