On this day I celebrate my heart. I know that he expects nothing on this day. I know that he knows what he means to myself and my Eternal and this never has to be said. I know that. I do. But sometimes the words that can be said are not quite enough or cannot say all of the things that we want them to.
But the words are nonetheless…
To be called one’s heart is a very special thing. These are two words that are not said casually, offered at a whim, or said for just any reason. They matter. They speak to a connection: perhaps knowledge that is known, but cannot quite be explained.
There are tales about souls knowing one another. Perhaps one sees another from across a room, on the other side of a field, or through the electronic ether. There’s something in that moment, that instant, where eyes glance, words are spoken, or a line of text appears on a screen that opens one soul to another.
With that comes … a feeling … that you know the other … somehow … that there’s something familiar, comforting that allows you to say hello, offer your hand freely and without fear. As that realization comes, it also follows that the parts of yourself that you keep close, hold to yourself, and never quite share finds their way to the surface and they come from you.
You talk about things. You speak of family, of faith. You express the beliefs you hold and you accept that what you believe in isn’t a matter of ‘just because’ for that alone isn’t enough to explain. You find there is a truth in the universe, in the vastness around you, that is core to who you are. Sharing that truth, opening yourself to it, to allow that there is a soul that accepts you as you are, faults and all.
You admit your own fears. There are many of them, of course, for they are part of life, of living, of existing in this world and any other. Once, you thought talking about them, speaking about them, sharing them was foolish because, of course, no one would do the same. But you do, you give that part of yourself that you fear to show, because the one you share with can accept you for all of those fears, worries, and know them.
The moment is there, from the beginning: that instant when you know you have found your heart. The meaning of those two words perhaps isn’t as clear as you might think, or know. But, inside, you find there was something missing in the moment before … and it isn’t missing now. Where there was once an empty part of you that you were aware of, but didn’t understand, there is a warmth, a feeling, an acceptance that the part of you that you thought was lost … isn’t.
Some cannot understand what that means exactly. To try and explain what matters, why it does, and what that knowledge has changed in your life takes more words than you have within you. But you try nonetheless. You express, in as heartfelt terms as you can, what all of this means. But you also know, as the last word escapes you, that you haven’t done justice to the truth. You cannot manage to put into words what your heart means to you.
You shrug a bit as you reply, by voice, by expression, by the letters on the screen, that this person is your heart. As you speak the words, there is an undercurrent of thanks in your voice, your fingers as they dash to try to keep up with the thoughts in your mind. You want to tell, to share, to put into simple terms what this one soul means to you. All you can come up with, finally, is that this is your heart.
As the words escape you again, you feel that you have done wrong … somehow. That, in telling of how you feel, of how much your heart matters to you, you have done this one wrong in a way. Not that you have harmed her or him, no, for doing so would tear you apart, leaving your soul in tatters. You would rather suffer an eternity before letting that ever happen. You ask, always, if what you have shared is alright, if your heart is alright.
The thought is not of you, it never is. You think of the other, of your heart, every moment. You offer yourself and it is one of the happiest days of your life when your heart calls you “Dear One.” You know without a shadow of a doubt that you have to live up to that honour. That dishonouring that gift would be the worst thing you would ever do. You worry about hurting your heart, disappointing her, causing him pain.
You try to hold within you the things that would hurt your heart, causing worry or suffering, for that is not, in your own eyes, what one should do. You believe, strongly, that keeping things away from your heart, holding them away is the best thing … because. It is not a reason, of course, but it is that what you have within you. You care too much, too deeply, and you are not ashamed of this. You are never ashamed of having your heart or being his or her Dear One.
There are the moments when you are speaking with your heart when you are close to tears. There are the moments when your worries for this heart overcome you and you cannot help them as they come. They cloud your vision, the words blurred upon the screen and you pause, trying to wipe your eyes and hold yourself.
Then you see that he asks what’s wrong, how he can help, will you please share what troubles you. Of course you don’t want to, the burdens are yours. It takes time, so much time, but your heart is there, patient, allowing you to say what you wish and not judging you for being the foolish soul you are at times. You aren’t sure when it happened or why, but, eventually, you share that within you to your heart, baring your soul to them.
The words are heartfelt, every one of them bringing tears. They are things never admitted, expressed even to the ones that are close to you. They are not your heart and as such they cannot be the ones to see you in your moments, when you express your needs, your wishes, your hopes and fears. It is in these moments that your heart sees the real you, and with that comes a truth.
The truth is—and always is—that there is a reason for everything, for every moment. There is a reason, a plan that brought a Dear One to her heart. It might never be explained in this life, it might never be revealed when the time comes. It could be that the reasons are nothing more than ‘it is meant to be this way.’ It could be that this was meant to prove something more.
But, the real truth, the one shared between a heart and his or her Dear One is that, in the end, what is shared is as heartfelt as it can only be when two such souls find each other. It is acceptance in a smile, a word, a moment. It is the telling of what happened, what the future holds, and what their hopes are. It is something more than what these words here can say truly and fully as one would like them to say.
And so the words spoken, always—for that is the way things are and always will be—are the ones that speak all of these things and more.
“Hello, my heart …”
“Hello Dear One…”
And all that follows from this. All of the highs and lows, fears and hopes, thoughts and pondering. All of the worries, the things told, stories shared, love given, prayers said together and apart. All of the comfort in knowing, all of the wisdom of seeing.
All of this and more is what my heart has brought and what his Dear One has given in return. For this is the way of things, how they are meant to be and will be. The heartfelt moments. The heartfelt hopes. The heartfelt prayers. The heartfelt ache. The heartfelt joy.
For that is what my heart means to me. And it is heartfelt every moment of my life.