I dropped my heart today. It spilled on the doormat as I walked in. It rubbed off on you when we hugged. There’s a smudge on your dining room table where I plopped my purse. Smears of it are in the pages of the paddling book I pretended to read.
You might find parts of my heart dribbled on the ratty tennis ball I threw with your puppy. I’m sure your kitten has bits of it in her paws from crawling up my chest. And curled in her teeth and whiskers from wrapping herself in my hair.
It spilled on the floor as I started to weep. It dribbled over my hand as I tried to muffle my growing sobs.
It bounced off your walls as I begged for answers. It slid down the floor as it met silence.
It finally fell in a thousand tiny bits as my decision was forced on me. Final. I raised my hand and whispered my decision. My heart flowed out of my mouth. It splashed on my feet and to the floor.
I gathered the tiny shards left over and clutched them to my chest. I gathered my flip flops and hugged them to me, protecting my few and fragile bits.
I stumbled over feet and between furniture. Flailing for safety. Smearing my heart on your couch and coffee table.
I saw the pain in your eyes. Red. Full. You asked if I was sure. I murmured something like thank you and “I’m done.”
Pieces slipped out of my arms and dropped back to the table. I rustled through my bag as conversations continued.
You reached for me as I left. A pat on the back? A slipped grab of my arm. I went back to you and we embraced. My heart smeared on your shoulder and down your chest.
I walked. Three or five steps. Smearing my heart across your floor, on the doorknob, hearing the murmur of conversation continue and knowing no one was chasing after me to bring me back; to convince me otherwise.
The screen door slipped closed behind me. My heart was trapped between the door and my chest.
I pulled it along behind me, convinced i wouldn’t go one step back and it would eventually return to where it belonged. I turned and tugged it gently toward me. It thudded softly and the screen door scraped it as it closed fully. I flung it dirty and bruised through the air and over my shoulder.
It hurt to breathe with my shards of heart scattered recently. Fully and completely. Without question. Painfully. But I know no other way.
I left pieces of my heart with you. And I trust you with them.
I know you will cherish and protect these bits of my heart. I leave them with you knowing I’ll see you soon and the pieces will be bigger, fuller, brighter from having been with you.
I see these tiny pieces going home with you. Tucked away in a pocket with tear stained tissues, smeared on your hands and clothes as you comforted me and embraced me.
I know some of you do not understand how love and commitment work. I leave the pieces for you to examine and learn from. Dissect them. Put them under a microscope. Leave them on a shelf to gather dust. Someone will see them and learn. And know.
Pieces of my shattered heart have found their way home with you, smeared on the bottom of your shoes. Wrapped in whispered conversations.
You’ll wonder where some thoughts or decisions might come from; they won’t be something you would have normally thought of.
Pieces of my shattered heart were smeared on your own and took root.
You’ll have learned to love. And it will have been my shattered fault.