So today, recognizing what woke my senses and had me feeling alive, I honor what my heart held...and I am grateful for it.
My Heart Sang
My heart sang
when he sat with me,
if only for a little while.
I loved his face, his hands, his long, beautiful legs,
the sound of his voice.
We could talk about nothing much
or get on some political bent.
It didn’t matter.
Whatever it was –
the thought of him, the feel of his arm next to mine,
that he chose to be with me for a little while –
it made my heart sing.
I wanted to dance, too,
but I couldn’t.
That wasn't to be.
No song to sing, seven-year-old me cowered deep within.
I have to make my peace with that
and say goodbye.
It’s too late.
That young man - he’ll always make me want to sing and dance,
that’s just how it is.
I’m too tired to fight it anymore.
It just is.
That other man – the heart-piercing, soul-squelcher of that little girl –
because of him, I missed my dance.
And yet, all these years later, still, there is joy for when
my heart sang.