Searching for a Heart

There is no do-over- life and everyone discovers regrets on their deathbeds they may not share. Mine will not be that I loved too little, but that I didn’t find you sooner. But right now, I can’t seem to find you through this confusing view.

Who is it that you are and what became of your dreams? Do you still carry them or have they only become another part of the eroding landscape of youth?

You have now become her and she can laugh at herself. She’s beautiful with her hair up cleaning windows or glowing in the black dress, bought for special occasions. If there’s humor in the room, she’ll find it. Humor in the world, she’ll eat it up with a laugh nobody can ignore.

She will stop to pet the neighbor’s dog and make the old woman down the street feel wanted. She’ll make fun of herself for being a dork but knows how to excite me in 5 seconds. If I act like a guy, she’ll forgive me and remind me that I’m too old for whatever it was I did. She knows I’ll still be here, especially after a week’s worth of “one of those days.”

She has curiosity in the world and is a fan of kisses for no reason. Love is my one requirement and is easy for her to fill. We’ll cling to each other in this often slippery world.

Love is the heart’s only law.

Love is the soul. Love the sweet breath of air just before dark, as I wait for you. Love is laughter and music and I want to release to feel the colorful and gentle melody in your heart. Just come out and show yourself whoever you are; I’m right here waiting.

A kitten , a vixen, maybe a mother, who can see the innocence in a child and find her own in the scrapbook of black and white photographs she hid because she was no longer a size 5. Now the vanity is gone and time has become her friend because she knows that she’s beautiful inside and out. I love her loudly and she loves when I brag about her. She has turned into the beautiful woman her mother tried to convince her she was when her heart was broken in the ninth grade. Now she can’t remember his name.

I’m not part of her unbroken circle of friends, but can dance with them just the same; proud that my first and last dance will always be hers and each one in-between belongs to us. She was born with eyes that shine and she will die with eyes that shine. I surprise everyone by telling them she’s my best friend and also my wife.

“Let’s sleep late on Saturday and I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”
You tell me, “No. It’s early to rise with a big breakfast because we need it to have strength for shopping later. We must find all the good stuff at the garage sales before anyone else does. “

We’ll split up the minute we enter the flea market and meet at the same place after circling around and finding the perfect gift we bought for under five dollars and hide in our pocket, coat or behind our backs. Only 5 questions can be asked before guessing and we’ve never guessed right We’ll reveal them with the excitement of Christmas before an afternoon nap. Then in the quiet slumber, we’ll dream of water, trees, the fragrance of lilacs in early May, a rainy forest, the first snow on a Saturday night, the smell of baked bread, a thunderstorm moving over the fields, how the third step in the old house still creaks. . . and the sun, of the warmth of the sun!

I love the roots in your hair. You have become a woman of the world, with a little girls wonder and the cheerleader spirit who can get me going again. You measure time with our heartbeats and moments, not with the elegant watch on your wrist that drives your work load each day and that you’ll leave on the dresser when you get home.

Sometimes you want to be alone, but welcome me after a while, because I can detect the tears in your eyes from what mine don’t see and hear the quiet, sobbing you think is sentimental, but that I will always understand.

I will wipe away every tear yet my stupidity may still cause you to cry on occasion. I will always put life on hold to listen. Why are you crying now? Is it the memory of the dog you never got to kiss goodbye when you went away to college? Or is it because your parents didn’t tell you when he died because you were too busy to call them?

Or is it the flicker of life that’s awakened you, as you suddenly realized we are in the middle of the third act and can’t start over? I want to walk in the light with you.

I can hear you from the bedroom as I collect my thoughts in the kitchen.
“Ohh, are you roasting garlic or are those onions that I smell? Remember, don’t boil the pasta too long. You know I’m one part Italian.”

The first sip of Riesling on your lips covers the real flavor of you and I want to kiss it off when you enter the kitchen so I may taste your sweetness instead. I fell in love with you for many reasons and all of them are perfectly, imperfect.

“Come to bed; I want to be held. You can skip the floss on your perfect teeth tonight.” You pause and laugh at the cute absurdity of what you just said, knowing I love you but will disregard your request for at least another 60 seconds.

As I look into the bedroom I see your smile and your reading glasses give you the sexy librarian look you know I love.

“Maybe we’ll play library cop tomorrow,” I say.
As you remove your dime store readers you whisper: “In that case I’ll steal some more books “

You’ve turned the electric blanket up high on your side and I don’t care. Together, we thank God for letting us find each other. I shut off the light while Sam Cooke warms the AM radio waves, helping us to fall asleep. And we know each morning we wake, we will be given the chance to make things right again.