A Desperate Heart

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Abstract

, though not that strong perhaps, love though, love for sure. He wondered how (or was it why) and I think I said I didn’t know, she just appealed to me something fierce.</p><p id="efbf">Yeah, probably love, this banging heart.</p><p id="2135">But that was sixty years ago, give or take. So, not love, no. Can’t be. Can’t even imagine. There’s no one around here that I love — recluse that I am. And there’s no one anywhere in the rest of the world right now that I love. There’s no one on any other world that I love, not as far as I know. So, ruling out love. Safely.</p><p id="cf97">Fear then? And I scour my universe and there’s nothing that frightens me anywhere. I’m stomped. What on earth? What off earth? Ghosts? Devils? Angels, scary angels? No, none that scare me. I’m quite content here and now whatever might be going on in the various spirit worlds.</p><p id="e779">Has my heart turned into a crow? A crow anxious to get out and wing the skies, for food if nothing else, or for a partner perhaps. Can I hear wings rustle in there, beneath my ribs? Perhaps, yes, perhaps a crow, or some bird smaller, sparrow perhaps, no larger than a sparrow, a nightingale — ah, that feels right that does (though I wouldn’t put money on a nightingale being larger than a sparrow). Is that birdsong I’m hearing? “Please let me out” sung in Nightingale? Let’s go with that.</p><p id="eab9">Now to open this ribcage up, at least a little, enough to work my hand in there and channel the bird out and into the air. ‘Sgonna hurt, this. But the things we do for trapped nighting

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ales, hey?</p><p id="1ea9">Or did I just drink too much (too strong) green tea? Perhaps that’s the deal. I liked the birdsong theory though.</p><p id="f0b7">© Wolfstuff</p><p id="b1eb">P.S. If you like what you’ve read here and would like to contribute to the creative motion, as it were, you can do so via PayPal: <a href="http://paypal.me/UlfWolf">here</a>.</p><div id="4406" class="link-block"> <a href="http://wolfstuff.com"> <div> <div> <h2>Wolfstuff</h2> <div><h3>So, who am I? Really really. I could tell you that I was born in northern Sweden during a snow storm, and subsequently…</h3></div> <div><p>wolfstuff.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*Apmgau8AeHCH0VtX)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="bfcc" class="link-block"> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/author/ulfwolf"> <div> <div> <h2>Ulf Wolf</h2> <div><h3>Ulf is a Swedish name that means Wolf. Well, today, wolf in Swedish is varg. Or, sometimes, if you're old-fashioned…</h3></div> <div><p>www.amazon.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*xoB8Wgj8bYn3U9aq)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Could It Be Birdsong?

My heart banged against my ribcage Can I come out? Can I come out?

Perhaps it was love. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was short of breath. But my heart could not stand its confinement.

I hadn’t been running, had I? Seen a ghost? No, none of these.

Knock, knock, knock, then bang, bang, bang — enough to make you wonder, is this the Reaper coming for me, is this the final banging?

Knock, knock, knock again, then bang, bang, bang — the impatience literally palpable. Hurting, actually.

Or was it love, then? I did love her, you know. She didn’t know that, though (didn’t even know I existed) and there she was, surrounded by friends, chatting away, oblivious of my bang-bang-banging heart.

It must be late March for much of the snow is gone and what’s left melts during the day to then form ice puddles overnight. This is first recess and the puddles are still icy, the ground still rock-solid with frost. And there she stands, not even a glance — say accidental glance — in my direction. And here’s my bang-bang-banging heart: bang, bang, bang.

I dreamed about her off and on, even told one of my friends about my secret affection, though it was more than affection, it was a brush with obsession, though not that strong perhaps, love though, love for sure. He wondered how (or was it why) and I think I said I didn’t know, she just appealed to me something fierce.

Yeah, probably love, this banging heart.

But that was sixty years ago, give or take. So, not love, no. Can’t be. Can’t even imagine. There’s no one around here that I love — recluse that I am. And there’s no one anywhere in the rest of the world right now that I love. There’s no one on any other world that I love, not as far as I know. So, ruling out love. Safely.

Fear then? And I scour my universe and there’s nothing that frightens me anywhere. I’m stomped. What on earth? What off earth? Ghosts? Devils? Angels, scary angels? No, none that scare me. I’m quite content here and now whatever might be going on in the various spirit worlds.

Has my heart turned into a crow? A crow anxious to get out and wing the skies, for food if nothing else, or for a partner perhaps. Can I hear wings rustle in there, beneath my ribs? Perhaps, yes, perhaps a crow, or some bird smaller, sparrow perhaps, no larger than a sparrow, a nightingale — ah, that feels right that does (though I wouldn’t put money on a nightingale being larger than a sparrow). Is that birdsong I’m hearing? “Please let me out” sung in Nightingale? Let’s go with that.

Now to open this ribcage up, at least a little, enough to work my hand in there and channel the bird out and into the air. ‘Sgonna hurt, this. But the things we do for trapped nightingales, hey?

Or did I just drink too much (too strong) green tea? Perhaps that’s the deal. I liked the birdsong theory though.

P.S. If you like what you’ve read here and would like to contribute to the creative motion, as it were, you can do so via PayPal: here.