there's a story in this, edition 3 // fragmented pieces

once, there were pieces of her heart scattered around, fragments left in nooks and crannies, in the branches of towering trees and beneath the pebbles of the riverbed that whispered her to sleep every night since she was three years old.

there were places she had kept secret, places only she knew about, places a thousand people walked through and no had ever seen. and, perhaps, she was only waiting to share a piece of herself with someone who would hold it with the same tender appreciation that she did.

no one came.
and still, she waited.

over the years, a few people followed her wandering footprints, and found the places where she had left herself, until, at last, the fragments were buried far away from the sunlight to protect her heart.

"my stories are my own," she said, "where i keep them is my home, and mine alone," and no one had the heart to tell her that you can't own a patch of sunshine, a thatch of forest or the ripples in the water anymore than you can chain the soul of an ocean or control the wings of a bird in flight, no matter how much you may love it.

patiently, she waited for someone, 15 years passed, and one day, he found her in a patch of sunlight, protected by a wall of trees, surrounded by a thousand crumbling footprints and fading dreams. and with a smile, a wistful glance, a silent plea for him to see, he became a part of her world and she, his.

over time, she showed him the places that held all her memories, and he collected pieces of her from the leafy branches and the pools of flowing water and the tender buds that bloomed two weeks of the year and crumbled for fifty until he glued her heart into one piece and reluctantly accepted it from her fragile grasp.

"you do not have to own things to love them," he told her, cradling the shattered fragments in his hands, "you cannot hold onto things out of fear of losing them. all you can do is love them while they are there for you to love."

but all she said was, "then love me while i am here," and so, he held her heart in his hands until the years began to merge together and he began leaving pieces of himself scattered in the places he had once found her; tied to branches and swallowed in the depths of the whispering waters, until, one day, there were only fragments of him left, clinging to her with lengths of fraying thread and unraveling string, and with a whispered, "i loved you," she left crumbling photographs behind in his hand; in the place where she once left her heart.

{"there's a story in this" is an ongoing project that my darling, incredibly talented friend grace of grace's garden walk and i started a good while ago, taking an image from here and writing a bit of fiction or poetry based on the silent story in its depths. you can read her lovely snippets here (one, two and three) and all my posts written for this project, here. xo}