I wonder what it's like
When
a heart
so over-used
is sick of trying
and loving
living
weeping
caring
making
breaking
keeping

Does it
stop altogether
its final beat
ringing
like a last note
in a song
and then the singer steps off the stage
that note still hanging
in the air

Like a smell that lingers
long after the person is gone
and reminds you of
the boy
with his
paint-stained fingers
the shy smile
that makes you want to describe
in a hundred different ways
how he looks
in his
rumpled canvas jacket
with the gold buttons
the one you promise to never wash
for fear of
losing that smell of
paint and dusty rooms, of
sunlight pouring in the window

And so you do the laundry
always leaving out the jacket
you watch the clothes
spin
around and around
maybe that is how a heart looks
when it is all used up
like an old familiar shirt
that has been washed many different times
and
mixed in with everything else

All of those memories
spinning together
the smells and the feelings
of those clothes
you can still remember
when you wore that particular shirt
on that date
with that boy
his name was
Christian
you went to the movies
but
it was boring so
you left
and walked around in the cool night air
and he bought you a cinnamon roll
which you ate
licking the sweet sugar from your fingers
which he held in his
intertwined

You get sad
remembering
the shape of his hand
the skinny fingers with their
beautiful bones
how they memorized your face
and his eyes
that shade of hazel
so deep you would swear
he could read your mind
and
see your soul
with its markings
not as beautiful as
his

Maybe a heart never wears out
maybe it just
hopes
and sticks it out
until
you find someone who can
hold it and never break it
someone who you can take your “fragile” sticker off for
and
just be
yourself

Whole and alive
with your sometimes, maybe, beautifully damaged, “alma”