The Voyage of an Open Heart

The heart finds itself afloat again, in a tiny boat made up of everyone it’s ever loved, in an ocean of everything it’s ever experienced. Every time is different of course, when the heart sets out for sail after each mourning; a glow of renewal becomes the compass for navigation, the boundless world lying ahead, and the heart is eager to experience all that it has to offer; the expanse of what could be, just as daunting as it is intoxicating. The heart often finds itself looking back on its journey, reminded of the myriad of places that have brought it to where it is proud to be today, like the time spent swaddled in the blue sweatpants too large to wear untied, under the blanket that held a grimacing velvet stroke, that held the heart wrapped in the warmth of another, looking at the sun placed above the number one on the center stile of the first door leading down the trail on the bluff, or housed within the trackpads of callused fingertips weaving together a song so electrifying that the hearts breath was found caught, beat after beat, every single fifty-one crushing seconds so tender, so nauseating, that the heart grew weary of a time past. The heart does this sometimes, grow weary that is, grappling with the ache of leaving a piece of itself behind in exchange for a new piece to fit into the tiny boat, and regardless of how vast the sea is, unflinching in its churning ferocity, in the deafening silence of a pin drop calm, tides reaching their crest to the moon and trough to the bed of the sea, the heart pours out of itself with exalted joy, reminded of the venom that closing itself carries, and with each beat, a surge of life force propels the sail of the tiny boat made up of everyone it’s ever loved, in an ocean of everything it’s ever experienced.