Wandering Soul

But though I drift, my heartbeat is there.

I have a wandering soul. Or merely a single breath of soul that comes and goes. Winds whisk it away like a wish flower’s whispers. She taught me love is not solitary or safe, that we are all in danger all the time anyway so why not dive in headfirst. We said our souls were tangled like loose threads, and I almost started to believe. Years later I say “Whisk me away again” to the open blinds dripping with blurred night sky. So the universe let me walk beside men who taught me not to keep my fingers crossed so tight, and people caught between threads and sheets and wishes just like me. And I found myself again. And again. Even when I didn’t think I was lost at all—there I was like a mirror hazy from my own breath. Again even now the mirror will cool and I will wander. But though I drift, my heartbeat is there. I am tethered by the metronome in my chest even when my restlessness turns rose and tangerine and tangles with the clouds like a sunrise birthed too early.

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