under-bridge heart

I keep my heart hidden, I always have. It never felt right to me to leave it exposed.

It took me quite a while to find the proper spot to leave it. I tried under-bed boxes and seasonal snow-burying, moving it from location to location for years.

Once I put it under the bridge, which was a difficult feat, I knew that I would leave it there.

I have been chided for this precaution, warned by everyone from street sweepers to nosy old ladies in supermarkets that hearts should be worn on sleeves or stylish hats so they may be easily spotted and courted.

I smile and nod and assure them I will take their advice into consideration.

But I have no plans to move my heart.

I am waiting for someone clever to figure out where it is, someone who will realize the under-bridge is accessible from the river.

Someone who wants my heart badly enough to brave the waters in order to claim it.


About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

Categories: flax-golden


James Hughes · July 29, 2011 at 3:09 pm

My quest takes me to Chicago, where I hire a rowing boat and drift along the river.

The oars soon relax in my grip, as I ease to a stop between Franklin Street Bridge and Wells Street Bridge. Gazing up at The Indonesian Consulate towering towards the sky, my eyes flick to North Post Place cutting between it and Caffe Baci. Music drifts out onto Lower Wacker Drive igniting dreams of a Night Circus that seems so real, and yet too perfect to be so.

Snapping out of the daze, my eyes drop to the under-bridge and I smile. I have found my destiny. I have found Erin’s heart.

    Suzanne · September 12, 2011 at 11:31 am

    L*O*V*E*D this one! And James’s comment cemented it for me. See you Wednesday for the book signing. I just saw an article on CNN and feel compelled to bring my 2 girls up from Gales Ferry, CT. I believe they Will simply L*O*V*E it. Thank you for sharing your words with us all.

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