When I was younger, I loved greatly.
With a purity of innocence, I left my whole heart open to love with such an intensity that it almost seemed to great for such a small and young soul.
When my heart grew full to bursting and I felt as though I couldn’t find it in me to love anything or anyone else, I would simply make more room.
This is how I loved.
With a big heart, and with all of it, all the time.
Of this love, there was none deeper, more unbreakable or unconditional as the love I had for my father. To me, he held the stars and the moon, and to him I was a princess. I was his princess. So quickly he became the kiss to all my scrapes, the laughter to my every frown, the good to all the bad.
That man was the whole world to me.
And I, so innocent, loved him with everything.
When he left, he took that everything with him. It was as though he packed my heart up on one of the suitcases he carried out that day. I was his princess, and the clock had rung 12 ending all the magic that was.
At first, there was a hope.
A reminder of how much love I had for him in my heart and the feeling that such a love was unbreakable.
There was hope to cushion and make comfort of the waiting.
Waiting for weekends where he would come back and bring the love with him, waiting for the special occasions where he could kiss away my scrapes, erase all my frowns and replace them with laughter and bring back the good times when I was his princess.
Even when weekends passed and all I got from him was a call, I would hope and wait. Because I was young, and I loved too greatly to know the hope would soon vanish and the waiting would go from one weekend to the rest of my life.
A heart is such a precious thing, a young heart even more so.
Still to this day I don’t know whether he knew he took it with him, or maybe he just forgot. Maybe he unpacked it with his many other trinkets of his old family, pushed it up high on shelf where it got dusty and was forgotten. Maybe he had meant to display it so proudly on a shelf.
I was young then, as was my heart, and it was just so full of love for him that I had hoped he would keep it safe.
Too much time passed in waiting, and without my heart, I became cold. And the hope left me.
And when I got a picture of her, his new little princess, the heart he had taken with him, where ever he had decided to keep it, I felt it shatter.
What was I now? I wasn’t sure. I was a shell of the girl I was when he left, left empty when someone so careless had taken something so precious and neglected it. I knew one thing, I was no longer a princess.
I had tried to build a new one, a heart to replace the one he had taken with him knowing then that he had never meant to take it, never meant to care for it, and the broken pieces would be left unnoticed. It’s a hard thing to build, and it’s so easy to get it wrong.
I built myself a new one, strong and cautious and around my new little heart with scarcely enough room inside it to love myself, i built sturdy walls. I had loved greatly once, and I knew how great a price I would pay to love like that again.
Such a sad image, I’m sure you’d see, if ever you could look in at the heart I’ve created. It’s small, and cold, I’m sure if you saw it you would think better and just leave it be.
My little heart, a ghost of what it used to be, never to be as it was again.