Having A Heart

Having a heart is; listening to a your  best friend on the end of the other line telling you that they miss you, and you’re barely holdin in tears.

Having a heart is; hitting the wall because you find out something that crushes every ounce of your soul.

Having a heart is; hating someone just because you truly love them.

Here is my heart, I don’t want it.

I have cared too much, and too little.  I have given everything, and not given a damn. 

I have cried because of someone still here, and smiled because of someone long gone.

I have smoked a cigarette as I drive down a red dirt road and pray for better days.

I have made my deals with the devil and kept my prayers going to God.

Rain brings a calmness over you, as if it understands the deep depressed parts of your soul.

Sunshine brings on good times, and big smiles full of hope for the future.

The days are getting longer, the time flies faster, you love deeper, I guess it’s part of getting older. 

Things change so much faster; you just put your spurs on and ride the hair out of life.

I’m back in this small town, the sky is full of little snow flakes coming down ever so softly, as if God has created each one to be different. 

What if God truly did? What if us as humans are his snowflakes?  He did create us all different.  Maybe it’s time to embrace it. 

Maybe it’s time to love too deeply, to care too much, and say what we think.  Because it could all be done tomorrow. 

Tomorrow could never come, then what? Do the people we love truly know how we feel?

Did you ride that horse one last time? Was it the best ride you’ve had or did it end up a causing you to be frustrated?

Did you hug your mama, or end the conversation in hate?

If you left the world tomorrow, how would you be ending things? 

Could you go in peace? Or would your soul linger and float like a snow flake.. Meant to be different, but the detail not truly noticed. 

Will someone miss the way you smiled at your horses, the way your hair hits the light, or maybe how you stand on one leg when you cook. Your silly little habits?

Or will they only remember you for the crying and depression you fought, the way you never said much, and how you left abruptly too far often.

What do you want to be remembered for?  It’s all in your hands.  I am choosing to be remembered differently than I would have been six months ago.

I want someone to remember me for the passion I have for life, the way I loved so deeply it seemed impossible, and a good sense of humor.

I may not go down in history, but they will damn sure know my name when I pass and I hope the angels sing when I come home.