Wanderings of the heart

My heart wanders, lost, caught between the capital of sound, where life dances in vibrant beats, and the endless stretches of desolation, green hills, and hushed valleys.

It drifts in the echoing streams, beneath gray clouds, wrapped in a soft fog, nestled in the embrace of icy lakes.

It soars high above jagged rocks, over the tangled crowns of trees, somewhere beyond the stone arches and the soaring raptors.

Perhaps it slipped into the hidden corners of antique markets, on bustling train platforms, amidst the clamor of the crowd, in the shrill whistles of departing trains.

It was sought in the shadows and laughter of old-fangled midnight pubs, in the warmth of tea rooms, in peculiar living rooms, in solitary bedrooms, beneath worn sheets.

For years, for generations, it was searched for, inconsolably, unaware of the shifting eras, the fading smiles, the silencing music.

But you, by chance, stumbled upon my heart, perhaps without intention.

You asked, "Is this yours? Do you wish for its return?"

I gazed deeply into your sorrowful green eyes, trying to grasp the familiarity, as if we had known each other forever.

You repeated your question, yet I shook my head, denying the return, covering your palm with my fingers.

"Please, keep my heart for yourself," I whispered.

[2016]