sentimentalities for a friend

I hope you take care of your heart
And I don't just mean physically or with what you eat,
Take care that you don't easily fall in love, too fast,
Too many times, that when you one day open your eyes
You'll see how worn out and patched up it is
Only it may be then that you'll blame it on love
When in fact love had nothing to do with any of it
I hope you take care of your heart
That should you fall out of love, you'll do it gracefully
Or as graceful someone could be while breaking hearts
As you side step the wreckage that yours won't be part of.
The moment you have an epiphany that cynicism is better,
It is not, pass, do not collect 200 dollars
Because cynicism will lead to years of bitterness
And a dozen or so of cats and moldy take-away.
I hope you take care of your heart
Guard it with your life so that when you finally receive
Someone else's heart, you'll have yours to give in turn
Baring out your scars and patches, while you map out theirs
Knowing each line of heartache, minding every last burns
Take comfort in the realization that this is a promise
To care for their heart as you've cared for yours
As you've fallen both in and out of love, broken a heart
Yours as much as another's, in both epiphany and stupidity
Since most of the time, one could appear to be the other
Because this promise has everything to do with love, and not just
Falling in to it or being in it, but in taking care of it.
I hope you take care of your heart so that you will know
When someone else starts taking care of it as much and more so than you.

Even as I say these words, I give you this promise.

I'm hardly the type of person who plans what to write. I just type or jot down and I don't stop until the words run out. I used to have just notebooks or pieces of paper scribbled with words, and phrases, or paragraphs, and poems. I love words. I think words can have so much impact and they don't often cost a dime (unless of course you go to the theatre, then you pay to see people spouting off words). People make their living off words; journalists, write stark or sensational news; authors, use words to draw us into their worlds; poets, are all a-rhyming; and so many various others, like screenwriters, ghostwriters, and the kind that writes the small print for the credit card companies and the banks, that I'm almost tempted to say, 'Yes, there is an App for that'.

I write on this blog stuff that mostly only make sense to me. Because I like writing for myself. I used to write letters and letters to my friends back in high school. All silly and ridiculous and serious the lot of them. I think words are lovely because they can be loverly, intimate; like they can curl up beside you and stay there for days, decades, and you would be able to still savor them even when they're just imprints on your shoulders. And then there're the kind that make you squirm, flinch away, because they sting even when the echoes are only heard from the depths of your soul. Because words are also unsafe. But there's so many kinds of words. Words of wisdom, words of anger, words of inquiry, words of passion, and words of doubt. Words and words of words.

I especially love the kind that leave you speechless. The kind that makes you pause, and just be there for you to really feel them. The words that touch you, the kind you can't unhear, whether they be right or wrong. Words that are like a balm that soothes. A lullaby that assures. Words that comfort when you need them.

I know she's bone tired; she hasn't been sleeping well. I hear him in the kitchen, making her coffee, tapping off the teaspoon. The weariness is in her voice when she asks quietly, "What would happen to me when you're no longer with me?" I hear him shift, his footfall loud on tiles as he walks to her. "Then I'll come back. I'll come back to you, my love".

Yes. He will. A reason why I love words is the emotions behind them as they are said. Even when you say the wrong ones, you redeem yourself as quickly as you say the right ones. Words of promise, of hope; I think they're the best kinds. Because they're the kinds you share with another, despite and because of how they shift lives. The kind of words that are looked forward to. The kind that means no more words need to be said. I long to say them. Out loud, and not just write them. But I'm saving the best for last, like the closing to a letter.

Sincerely,
Katrina