I cannot find my heart.

It is not to be located in my flat.
There is nothing in my bed but sheets.
The cluttered bathroom counter holds only oddities.
The kitchen dishes done, drying in the rack;
the freshly baked muffins wrapped and in a tin.
The remotes scattered over the lounge,
the dining room table covered in unopened mail.
Computer desk littered with keys and pens and blank books.

I trace my way back through my day —
grocery store, chemist, post office, work.
Nothing.

Then I walk to your place.
Ferreting the key from my canvas bag,
I shoulder-shove the door open,
the way one must when wood swells in the hot, moist summers.
Slowly I make my way through your life,
uncovering broken crockery,
discarded cutlery,
milk-rimmed glasses and wine-ringed mugs,
holey socks and biscuit crumbs.

Turning to go,
my eye catches a sigh under your couch.
I bend to take a closer look and there it is.
My heart.
Suddenly I remember that I gave it to you last night.
I pull it out and dust it off.
It looks a bit thinner, a lot tattier than it was.
Clutching it tightly to my chest,
I leave,
forgetting to lock the door behind me.

*******************************************************************************

Today Walter presents Grace’s Chat With Laurie Kolp at d’Verse.
He then leaves us with this quote:

“I am cold, even though the heat of early summer is adequate. I am cold because I cannot find my heart.” ~Sebastian Barry from his novel A Long, Long Way

and asks us to draw something from these words, using this inspiration to craft a worded wonder.

I was caught by the phrase “I cannot find my heart” and started there.

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