In the middle of this crowd, I look around and everyone disappears: Friends who I have known since I was young, friends I have celebrated birthdays with, friends I have given pieces of my heart to, friends I would have given my life to save. I am alone and broken. My heart a patchwork of trampled pieces sewn together and incomplete. Who could love this? Maybe if I didn’t have so many scars and fears, so many missing pieces and torn pages it would be possible.
Yet here I stand, longing for your love but unable to take a step forward for fear of another rip in my patchwork. It may be one I can mend over time, but then again it might be shredded into pieces and scattered by the wind. So I searched for some type of signal; a word, a gesture, anything which may allude to your feelings. I saw a sign, an inkling of inner workings, a glimpse of serenity and I took that leap. For an instant you let me in and we shared a perfect moment but it didn’t take long for that door to shut. Now I am on the wrong side and my mind tells me to walk away but my heart drives me to knock again. So I knock and I listen through the wind, the rustling of leaves, and the silence. I listen for your sweet voice to call my name, or whisper permission for me to enter. I listen and I dream of that perfect moment, when my heart was no longer a patchwork of broken pieces tied together with tears, and I knock.
Mile 29 