POEM #21

I’m standing here holding love in my hands,
Clueless where to put it.
It rests here like a living thing.
Warm, trembling slightly.
Too alive to throw away,
Too faithful to abandon,
Yet too heavy to carry.
I’ve turned it over a hundred times.
Looked for hands to place it,
Leaned toward every open door
But it recoiled from the cold,
Too shy for unfamiliar hands.
I walked through familiar streets
Looking for doorsteps to leave it
Or a fence to hang it.
Isn’t there a shelf high enough?
A chest deep enough?
Or arms that will not flinch?
No one tells you about this feeling.
When love outlives the people it was meant for.
No one teaches your heart how to let go without forgetting.
Love was truly never the hardest part.
Finding where it belongs, that’s the part that breaks you.
So, here I am, still holding it in my hands.
Afraid that if I put it down, 
I might never pick it up again.