Soon this feeling too will fade. Our hearts are graves of lost emotions and feelings. Ones we thought we’d never heal from, yet after a point they too wilt and wither fertilizing the soil of our hearts. Then as the seasons change, grow new flowers. Much more alive and brighter. Ones that we thought would never bloom. And thus life unfurls and we move ahead. Sometimes nostalgia takes us on a trip to grieve at the gravestones, where now stand beautiful flowers. Yet at their roots a spec of dust holds the essence of the dead. That spec of dust smiles as the flowers heave, deep tranquil sighs.
Let that be my heart oh Lord,
Let that be my garden.