gather your broken hearts.
sometimes I wish I could gather all the misshapen little pieces of all the broken hearts of the world.
I’d collect them with a dust pan and hand brush, whispering words like “there, there” and “don’t worry about a thing” before letting them slide to a free fall with a tinkle-tinkle-tinkle to the bottom of a velvet-lined pouch.
I’d walk those pieces home while humming bob marley’s greatest hits, and when I arrived at my doorstep I’d promise those little pieces that miracles—the likes of which they’d never believe—were to take place tonight.
steady hands would guide their fall to an altar, pieces of my steadily singing heart set out, waiting to receive them.
with ginger swishes of painted fingernails, I’d stir and heap the pile—a tiny mountain of good intentions and banished dreams.
I’d cry songs of forgiveness for all the fragments holding tight to broken promises, I’d cry songs of hope for all the shards missing their once-familiar prayers, I’d cry songs of redemption for all the slivers tarnished with the residue of shame.
and for the ones who now knew only the wretched pain of long lost love, I’d let them wail, and I’d wail too, until every last cinder ceased to rage.
under the watchful eyes of this restless soul and her loyal moon above, I’d wait. for hours, for days, for relentless weeks, until the hurt made its way past mournful curves and angry edges, settling at last for good. only then would I exhale the tender breath I had stored safely away in the pit of my belly, freeing the pain from every last crevice. “your work here is done,” I’d whisper to wandering ashes. “this is where we say goodbye.” I’d watch with unbearable anticipation as the pieces, wrought with a lightness they’d all but forgotten, softened into one another, reclaiming their space in this world.
and when I was certain the moment had finally arrived, I’d lift the now-beating mass to the heavens, transformed to a wholeness, a new heart for growing beautiful things. a new love just begun.
artwork: collete saint yves
—this post was grown on the gram.