Your heart has always had a murmur.

I have heard it whisper to me in the night,

“I love you I love you I love you.”

Though I only had a silent heart,

I would hold you close and whisper back the same.

Now the murmur has become so loud

That I can hear it, hear it even over my tears,

Its message never changing.

I hold you close and whisper back the same,

Now adding some words of my own.

“You can go you can go you can go.”

My heart is no longer silent. My heart is breaking.

Take the pieces when you depart.

Without you, I’ve no need of this heart.

The memory of your love will fill the heart-shaped emptiness,

Not quite a heart but far better than the mere organ,

All that I had before I loved you.

I listen to story after story depicting the beloved

Hear again and again the desperate repeated pleas that beg

Doesn’t this act these words that look mean I am loved in return?

I marvel at the furious storm and the abandon of all measure.

So many applaud this loss of control, celebrate such madness in so many ways,

Even term it holy and divine, casting those who do not succumb as suspect and odd.

I’ve been a listener all of my life, this same tale told many a time.

I tried to mimic it myself but very poorly so gave up in relief.

My impulse is to offer remedy, or at least a caution that the gaudy painted carousel

Looks much different when the fair is closed.

I restrain myself unless explicitly asked.

Most only want a sympathetic ear, warm words of encouragement,

And then a bandage for their broken heart.

All these tools I keep on hand.

I wait for you to catch up,

And what do I do while I wait?

Read the books I’ve carried to give you,

The books I’ve read until I know every word.

Study the maps I’ve collected,

The maps I’ve marked with all the places I’ve been.

Examine the cups from which I drank tea,

The cups I’ve crackled from so many steeps.

Hasten please, though I do not mind revisiting these things.

The day ever shortens; my journey beckons;

I cannot remain here long.