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A heart is an organ beating my my chest. It keeps me alive.
But at school? The heart is a red crayon,
a shape traced on construction paper,
cut out with safety scissors,
taped to a refrigerator door.
The soul is my shoe. Right momma?
No honey. It is inside you. It’s eternal.
A soul is something that drifts
somewhere up high—
maybe behind the clouds,
maybe near the moon,
It’s what you feel in your depths. Like your heart. But not your HEART heart.
My 2nd grade mind cannot understand that which is not literal at this age. Everything is literal. Black and white.
But oh to not understand the heart and soul now. Age 40.
Age 8? We do not know yet
that a heart can ache without breaking,
that a soul can be worn thin and still glow.
A heart can break over and over though we beg it not to.
Our soul can be crushed in only a few words, sentences, moments.
As children, we do not know yet
that hearts are not just paper,
and souls are not just air—
that one day,
we will carry them both like lanterns,
guiding our way through the dark
Or in moments of desperation and deep heartbreak pray and wish on every star to light up our path because we are so far under water we cannot see or even breathe.
As children, we do no know yet that our hearts and souls can also do the same for others.
But we are no longer children.
So why hold the lantern along the path for only your own footsteps
When your light is bright enough to, metaphorically, walk each other home?
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