It would sound like something you’d hear if you were yawning and crying at the same time. A stretched out wailing with a slow motion inhale. You watch helplessly as the breath escapes your lungs without your permission. Wanting to hold it in but knowing you can only let it go. I cannot consider stolen those pieces originally given as a gift . But the feeling of theft is ever present. And hard is the beating of a scattered heart.
I stood there, looking at the picture and wondering what was going on in that mind of yours. A study of your face reveals nothing about everything. Neither a smile nor frown, but more a quizzical expression as if to ask me “what are you going to do now?” I never have an answer so I resort to stringing together words that might help me crystallize what remains of this scattered heart.
Perplexed by the conflict of logic and emotion. I understand both sides of the argument. But the end of debate rarely affords me any peace, only questions. No, more like declarations with no clear answer because no question was asked. The open-ended request of “is this how it should be?” is forbidden. All that remains is the truth that this is how it must be. And so remains my scattered heart.