The Holder of Hearts

The scene materializes

Pews filled to the brim, soft and subdued chatter

Rises high into the cathedral's ceilings,

As the echoes of the joyous occasion bombard my eardrums

With the constant reminder of what I once had,

Of what I lost.

He stands before me, beaming,

And for a moment I pretend that he is smiling because of me.

That I would be the last one to part the oaken doors.

Harsh reality awakens me from the daydream. 

I stand to his right, not left.

Stare at his back, instead of gazing into those beautiful blue eyes.

The best man instead of The man

It changes.

I venture through the solemn fields,

Strolling the rolling meadows, the flowered prairies,

My dark, crimson tears staining

The wild, yellow lilies that quickly fall to the ground.

Wilted, dead.

I come to a clearing,

In the center of which he stands,

Clutching in his hands a small wooden box,

A heavy, iron lock hanging from the oaken panels.

I run my hand across my chest,

Searching for something that had been taken long ago,

A gaping hole in my anatomical makeup.

Reaching into my pocket, bruised fingers wrap themselves around a brass key.

My glance jumps between the box and the gaze that stares directly through me,

as he dreams of the one that holds his own.

I reach, for a moment, then withdraw back into myself.

I don't want it back.

Not now. Not Yet.

Reviews

[Chiquita]

This is beautiful. I appreciate how the oaken doors are revisited in the second part as the oaken panels that hold the coveted heart. "I run my hand across my chest,"...this is briefly sensual yet profoundly sad as he searches for his own heart only to realize it has been taken. Then to see the one who holds it just look beyond him to the one he loves. It is clear that the writer has the chance to reclaim his heart yet leaves it in the hands of the one he loves even as he stands there to watch him pledge his love to another.

[MandaBear]

i really enjoyed reading this