the ocean erodes us

what i want to come out and say is that perhaps i've never loved anyone. perhaps i've never loved anyone except for that one man with the dark beard.

he is more of a shadow than a man, now. like peter pan, his shadow dances independently of his body, moving wily across the interiors of my heart. often he hides in the cracks, subdued and tired until an electric pulse energizes him to remind me of what i lost.

and i want to admit this, this non-love, this lack of love, as an explanation rather than an apology. i will somberly remember that year when my heart was so hopeful. this man, an artist - a glass blower, taking my inflamed heart and expanding it, expanding it, expanding it. and there it stood, proud and open, letting the cool california breeze pass through and preparing itself to be a home, until it fell. until this delicate glass broke; until my heart shattered.

and since then i have been collecting pieces. gluing what i can back together, storing the misfits in a box. and i find that my glue is weak and i need a bigger box, and my arms are tired from carrying the burden. i feel like an old woman collecting antiques, deeply afraid that the biggest pieces will break again and again until i am left with grains of sand where a full heart once stood. the ocean erodes us.

this is all that i am. this is the account that i have for myself. an antique heart trying to maintain what still remains. desperately hoping for someone to take this box from me and build a mosaic; desperately hoping for a cool drink of water; needing something to pull me back to life.

Empty, or open-hearted? Where
A full heart spoke once, now a strong
Outline is the most I dare:
A window opening onto fair
Shining meadows of hopefulness? Or long
Silence where there once was song,
Waves of remembrance in the darkening air.
--john hollander