When your heart breaks its leash,

Let it go.

Let it run.

Don't ask it to behave. Or sit politely at your feet.

It may take days or years for your heart to return.

You may whistle for it from the porch at sundown

You may hear it howl at midnight

Don't worry.

Your heart isn't lost.

Your heart knows the way home.

One day, maybe tomorrow, maybe not,

You hear a scratch at the door,

Here she is, tracking in mud

From swamps and forests

Laying at your feet a mouthful of orange flowers from purple fields

You never knew existed.

You look down at your scruffy little heart,

Panting in the kitchen,

So hungry, after such a difficult journey.  

And that's when

You start to bake.

That's when

The recipe begins.

The recipe is firm: measure precisely.

Recklessness only makes things worse.

Then, the recipe is luxurious: to hell with your precision, it says.

Go hog-wild, break open

Your reserves with big handfuls of forgiveness, heapfuls of generosity

Search every cranny and cupboard for every last crumb of grace,

All of it into the bowl.

Into the loaf, which you bake in the warmest of ovens.

Just for you.

But then - it's gone again, our heart

Dashing out the door, nose to the ground.

Smelling something you can't.

We clutch our tender loaf, wrapped in the safest of towels,

Following our heart.

Where will it lead? Whose doorstep will it curl upon,

Waiting for you to arrive?

You fish out the wrinkled recipe from your back pocket.

But the recipe fades here.

There are no more instructions.

What happens now is up to you.

We do not know where the heart will lead,

Or if there is courage to follow.

We only know this:

One day, maybe tomorrow, maybe not

You hear a scratch at the door.

Here she is, muddy paw prints all over the floor,

Purple flowers everywhere.

Tears fall, on your knees, embracing, whispering:

"There you are, old girl, my old heart. There you are."

In the distance, you see a long line

Of other hearts, muddy, with purple flowers,

All carrying their own loaves of bread

All limping towards you

Smiling.

And your scruffy heart - its eyes so tender - whispers back.

"You're never alone."

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This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.