foto: Doris Markač

Once, a long time ago, I built a wall around my heart in order to protect it. With the help of mighty walls of reason I thoughtfully steered between those, to whom I showed at least a bit of it and from those, from whom I rather ran away. It did not bother me and I was aware of the fact that my heart was rigid. I felt it was more important keeping it safe as to feel the mighty heart breathing with full lungs. I did not allow being hurt. I did not cry whilst watching romantic movies and sentimentality was not a part of my vocabulary. I was a guardian of my heart which I safely locked in a cage.

Then She was born. She, who tore my chest in two with her arrival. Without any gentleness she seized my guarded heart from my fragile body and stuck it right in front of me. It had to float in that position for quite some time. It was hammered by storms and thunder for far too long. The rain storms washed it off, lightings revived it and strong winds dried it again. At certain moments it seemed as though this mass of muscle would not last. That it would stop beating or would freeze away due to fear, which continuously indicated at a nearing tragedy without a slight of gentleness. At certain moments the pain squeezed it with such power that it seemed as if there was not even a drop of blood left in it. The sadness ate into the membranes like a redundant fungus one cannot get rid of. It was paralysed. It stopped beating; and when it seemed that there was no life in it, it started beating again. The powerful draining of the blood enabled it to expand beyond recognition at the rush of blood.

I cry today. I am hurt. I feel sadness and I recognise fear. Without the first, the second would not exist. The kisses I share today and which help to keep us alive, would not exist and hugs that chase all the fears away, would only be a minor version of what we can offer when we stretch our arms wide enough to be able to awake through a hug the gentleness in even the scariest giant.
Passion does not live in a rationally rigid chest. It runs about during the turbulent dance of the ribs. It sits on the shoulders that often lift themselves as though they are trying to say that they do not know what is all about or where their legs are going. Home is where people talk loudly and mistakes are admitted without embarrassment.

Everything is different now. I celebrate her every birthday as it enabled me to be reborn again eight years ago. My heart started beating again because of her kindness, watchfulness and being focused on her own goal and not what others expect of her. It beats in the rhythm of our love.

foto: Doris Markač

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