Where Lonely Hearts Go

When the day is all said and done, where does my lonely heart go? Not to sleep, that’s for certain. Quiet jazz fills my subconscious with a tingle of emotion as the aroma of raindrops fills the empty room. My head races through snapshots of days come and gone. Replaying every moment where joy was felt just to try and find some comfort in the forsaken darkness of a winter evening. I close my eyes in an attempt to force calmness on my soul, but it instead finds peace in wandering.

It’s first destination is a quiet day on a mountain top. Untouched air floods a one room cabin, fluttering curtains are the only sound. The sun rises over the hill tops and with it comes the birds. Whistling as they flap their wings to the beat of my heart, I become conscious of every movement around me. I see butterflies on bushes, dandelions disperse in the gentle breeze. The tall grass dances as the deer comb through it to find breakfast, all while I sit and watch. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. I’ve never experienced such tranquility, and while I’m inclined to stay forever, my soul moves on to it’s next location.

The hustle and bustle of a cold Chicago morning greets me as I depart from my apartment stoop. Hot coffee in hand I make my way down the street where the train awaits. The sound of car horns is muffled by the screeching of the tracks as my ride comes to an end. I make my way down three city blocks, neon lights from clubs and coffee shops reflect off the fresh fallen snow creating a Christmas light effect. Finally reaching the storefront, I’m greeted by the smell of pine and old pages. A kind old lady ushers me to an empty section where I explore limitless tales of terror, love and adventure. My soul finds inspiration in the pages and guides me to our next stop.

White sand melts between my toes as my hair dances behind me in the wind. Salt water waves pound the shore of the empty beach where I find myself. I see dorsal fins peak through white cap waves as dolphins dance in an orange clad sunset. I collect sea shells as currency, they pay my way to comfort. I run my fingertips along jagged rocks on my way to the water and just as my feet begin to sink into wet sand, I find myself being pulled back towards my next destination.

Ivy green leaves cover an aging cobblestone path leading towards a gate. I don a delicate lace dress and follow the walkway towards the most awe-inspiring architectural feat I’ve ever laid eyes on. Limestone pillars tower above stunning wrought iron doors. Built for a queen, but long ago deserted by royals, surely for more modern accommodations. I enter with caution as I’m unsure of how welcome I’d be in a palace such as this, but to my surprise I find it empty. Long forgotten, hand painted ceilings have begun chipping and falling to the floor. Once danced upon, it now boasts many cracks and missing tiles. Grandiose staircases lead to more abandoned spaces. Once a pinnacle of wealth and culture, it now sits vacant and decaying in a world that has long forgotten to acknowledge and learn from the past. I walk down the stairs, and as I reach the bottom, I notice the scenery shift. It’s time I’m brought back home.

I open my eyes to find golden sunlight beaming through my window. The music has stopped, and in its place, the screeching of a crow in the park across the way. Reality begins to sink in as I sit up to turn off my alarm and prepare for another day in my black and white world. My lonely heart loses it’s comfort and my soul settles back into its lackluster routine. Where my despondent self wanders on a cold winter’s night becomes meaningless in the light of an overcast frigid day. So long as I remain with a lonely heart, a wandering soul will be my only comfort.