Heartland
Now that we’ve given our hearts away
With the bric-a-brac, we want them back.
Now we look for them secondhand,
Someone else’s, in the old songs,
The slowly unfolding novels
We never had time for. Hearts
That taught themselves to fly;
…overstuffed hearts, still leaking
Downy secrets like feathers.

We want someone to say,
‘I give you my heart’, meaning,
‘Summer and winter’, meaning
‘All my time in the this world’…

Why We Tell Stories

I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground

and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers

and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened

and learned to speak

I didn't just love him…I needed him. Not in some desperate "you complete me" sort of way. No, Vincent didn’t make me whole. He improved me. Something about him—something I didn't understand—had a way of amplifying the good in my nature while muting the bad. He was a catalyst for my soul. I didn't need him in order to exist...I needed him in order to be a better me.

Each thought of you was like a carefully penned love letter etched perfectly into the realm of my heart. And in that sacred place, locked tightly away from the world, you would always remain flawlessly untouched.

Love you 'til I'm heartless!

The thing about love is most only find their way into our hearts, but every now and again one will find the entrance to your soul. Once that happens your entire world will shift. It changes you in every way, it paralyzes you, and the way you love will never be the same.