Heart Hinges
Rusted Open
The hinges of my heart rusted open It is cold in here
This one door, whose well-oiled hinges were worked to exhaustion in my early days, has not seen much use lately. Just notice it for the first time in a long while the other day. Must have left it open. It’s rusted that way now; breezes of many kinds sailing straight in and through.
Yes, it’s cold in here.
Still, now that I stop to feel and consider, it’s airy and fresh and not so feverish as before — a very nice change once you get used to the cooler climate.
The fevers of youth, though pleasant enough, were definitely the tail (heart) wagging the dog (me), falling in and out of love on a regular basis (and the verb falling is very apt in this case, methinks) and running to and after wherever and whomever my heart dictated.
Yes, quite pleasant at the time, but oh, so hectic.
Today’s higher altitudes, the thinner air, the low-gliding clouds brushing and sometimes draping peaks here and there, all certainly spell a calmer emotional climate — I don’t even miss the hectic days.
Still, I should rummage around for my WD-40 (rust’s only natural enemy) and see if I can fix the hinges one of these days — though I might still leave the door open.
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© Wolfstuff
