THAT SONG ISN’T ABOUT YOU.

 

Psychologists say people are like bay windows- the window sits at the front of the house, overlooking the yard, neighbors watering their lawns, and that little dog that always slips out the front door.  Sometimes passersby catch a glimpse of your furniture inside, or a flash of the TV as you switch between baseball and the evening news. But mostly all they see is a flicker. You see, these windows are guarded. They’re guarded with shutters on the outside, and curtains, drapes, and blinds. Most people only open one at a time. They’re shielded from curious eyes, and sheltered from the rain, salesmen, and little stray cat that wants to slip inside.

And then there are people whose window isn’t a window at all, but a gaping hole where the pane should be. On  beautiful days we don’t have to toss the shades open and let the sunlight pour in-it’s already there. And in seasons where the sun doesn’t shine as bright,  we’re vulnerable to the wind and storms, bugs and salamanders, and any other nasty thing that wants to wiggle its way inside.

 

Last week a boy told me he loved me then took it back, and the rain came pouring in.

 

It blew through my chest like a tornado, and it wasn’t what he said and took away that hurt as much as the reminder of a repeated past-the monsters I ran 500 miles to escape still hide underneath my bed.

I suppose they flew in the open window.

There isn’t a lesson here, only a reminder that hearts bruise in open chests, but they also catch easily the light of fireflies.

So if you wear your heart like a wooden swing on a wraparound porch in the middle of June, then remember to

“Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.”  (Rumi)

Dance to his song but embrace your own tune because

he didn’t write it about you.

 

 

 

 

Thanks to my friend Bubba for the inspiration and psychology lesson. 

 

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