the girl with the patchwork heart: a story (a hope)

sometimes she could feel it coming towards here before she ever saw it.
she would feel the rattle in her bones, look up and watch it approach.
a swift sweep across the horizon. a runaway train.
coming for her.
and she was helpless.
simply had to stand there and await its impact.
such was attraction.
most of the time she could ferret it out before it overwhelmed her.
she learned to read the signs.
dark curls of the hair. mischievous sidelong-glances. brooding dispositions. a kindred sadness. long eyelashes and deep-set eyes. strong hands and broad shoulders.

but this. this was altogether something new. different.
this had caught her totally by surprise.
she turned around one day and there it was.

he was good.
it was his goodness.
palpable. quietly radiating.
simple and pure.
and she wanted to touch it.
she wanted to reach out.
place palm against chest and feel it.
to know it with her fingertips.

but she knew.
wherever--however the attraction began.
despite pure intentions and good beginnings it carried in it the seeds of great heartbreak.
and she had loved so often. outwardly. in so many directions at once.
been forced to patch her heart together with nothing but scraps of twine and discarded threads.
and so she couldn't imagine.
couldn't imagine how heartbreak was not the inevitable end.

so she closed her mouth. stopped talking. bent her head as he approached.
tried desperately to preserve what little she had.

and yet.
she wondered.
if he might show her.
an alternate ending.

photo.