an abandoned heart

Creak.

That dreaded sound again

This is not a museum

Why can’t they understand?

Sounds everywhere.

It’s too loud to bear.

I took a peak from the attic

and he is cleaning out the cobwebs.

From the corners of the ceilings

to the underside of the doormat.

Then he dusted the bookshelf

that held volumes of pain

one heartbreak per lane.

Alas, he would place them neatly again.

Coughs.

A-tish-oos.

Sniffs

and smacks.

And he makes his way to sweep the place.

Water, everywhere.

He’s flushing out the drain.

What are you doing to my Heart?

When really it’s just an abandoned hut,

a house of cards,

worn out and torn,

never to be used again?

I scoot from the attic,

and peeked at this work of art.

Another Soul in my Heart,

in a plain, stained t-shirt,

and pants rolled up.

He took this hut,

and made it a sanctuary.

What’s more, he made an apple tart.

Oh, sweet apple tart.

“There you are, Soul,

I made my way in,

to clean this up.

I hope you don’t mind.

I read some of your stories.

And learned them by heart.”

I ran back upstairs

in this mess that I am.

I am not ready for this

So I chose indifference.

But he did not waver.

He did not leave.

Unlike the others,

Everyday he came to me.

To feed my fire,

and create a velvet warmth.

A comforting noise in my silence.

My attic is still dirty though,

but today I shall open my doors.

He cleaned me up

as deja vu strikes.

I looked in the mirror

My hair is in spikes.

He cleaned me in a lathered bath

without changing the way that I am.

I asked, “why are you doing this?”

He said, “to see you here like this

so alive, so warm, so full of Possibilities.”