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.