“The man with a suitcase” whom I have fallen so deeply in love with. Yesterday he knocked on my door but was welcomed by the echoes that bounced back from my empty nest. He had his suitcase with him and once again he had returned to me, but I was not there. I was lost, lost without him. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I was choking in my own words that stabbed me like daggers piercing through my fragility. I was wandering into oblivion, like a mad man chasing a void, but I was rescued by the wings of love; an emotion that had tortured me continuously yet rescuing me from my self-destructive self. Love lifted me and took me to my doorsteps. I looked on the floor and saw the tracks of his suitcase; I took a breath and smelt his essence. I melted to a pulp, had I lost him again? I followed the tracks of his suitcase and it lead me to the grounds where I had buried my beating heart in a jar, waiting for the right one to make it his treasure.

My heart in a jar was gone. My treasure all dug up. Had he reclaimed it once more? Had he been lost without it? How did he know where to find it?

So I followed the tracks of his suitcase as they lead me away from the grounds where I had buried my beating heart in a jar. The trail lead me straight back to him. I was shaking, eyes teary, head splitting. I rested my head on his chest, he drew me close and I heard the beating of my heart inside of his. In that moment, I felt whole again. He comforted me, stroked me, wiped away my tears, and whispered sweet words to me. We stood under the moonlight like two lovers who had nowhere to go but to each other. Stars twinkled in the deep blue skies like angels up high singing a praise. I am home again; my home is in his heart, in the heart of ‘the man with a suitcase”. My heart will go on and on.

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