The Lost and Found Keys to Our Hearts

I thought I had kept them hidden--deeply within me.

Tucked away in a secret spot, where no one could find them--

not even me.

But I made a deadly mistake,

and when the most precious key shined a little too brightly,

you saw its golden sheen, when even I couldn't see it.

My heart protected by so many locks and many more keys--

so what if one went missing? I had immense security.

I didn't want to be seen, or heard, or adored. 

I wanted the key to my innermost heart to be kept safe,

and the best way to do that was if it could never be used, 

and what better way to make sure something is safe,

than to forgot it exists. 

I had lost the key to my own heart. 

And because you loved obscure trinkets,

when you saw it, you picked it up and tucked it into your pocket,

even though you didn't quite know what it was for yet.

You kept it safe, while I had no idea it had gone missing.

And then, when I went to look inside for it,

to make sure it was still concealed--I couldn't find it.

How had the key to the deepest part of me gone missing? 

Where had it gone? How reckless had I been? 

I'd have to change all the locks to my heart again.

Slam all the doors, engage every deadbolt.

You smiled at me when I said I had lost something,

because you had also found something around the same time.

"What have you found?" I asked you.

"Something that unlocked a part of me."

"What part?" I asked.

"My heart," he said.

"I don't think that's how it works," I said. How could he use my heartkey.

"That is exactly how it works," he laughed, "we don't keep the keys to our own hearts,

but we acquire ones meant for others. Mine went missing when I first met you."

"I have no one else's keys," I said. I was no thief--he was a fool.

Somehow, he could see into the deepest part of me. I tried to stop him, but it was far too late.

"That's because I have a habit of giving people gifts even when they don't know they need them, and when I realized what it was that I had given you, I knew I would never be able to get it back."

"I don't have your key," I said, exasperated. "But if you have mine, I think I'd like it back."

He opened his hand, and in the center of his palm, it laid there, bright and vibrant.

"I found it abandoned, and I knew it must have been important. And while I kept it safe, 

it began to open up parts of me that I never knew I had locked. Thank you for letting me borrow it." 

My key laid there, polished and looking brand new. I barely recognized it.

"Did you polish it?" I asked.

"No, I found it like that."

As I looked at the key in his hand, I felt something unlock within me too.

A warmth in the center of my chest, radiated up and down my spine. For the first time in my lifetime, I felt what must have been love. 

His face brightened as his eyes met mine. 

"I don't need my key back," he said to me. "It was a gift, I want you to keep it."

"But I never knew I had your key," I whispered, ashamed. "And I didn't know that mine had gone missing, let alone that you had found it."

"I wasn't trying to find it--it found me," he clarified.

I looked at you, looking at me, and I saw myself clearly for the first time.

All the locks and keys inside of me burst apart all at once.

My heart beat freely, steadily, unencumbered by the past that had forced me to protect the most sacred parts of me.

"So we've found and used each other's keys, now what?" I asked, tears ran down my cheeks.

His eyes filled with light.

"We find more keys and remove more locks. That's what love is, that's what we are meant to do."

"I'm not sure I understand how this works."

"I'll show you how," he said. He held out his hand, I grabbed it. As we walked,  keys of every shape and style and color appeared. 

"How do you know which to keep safe and which to ignore?" I asked.

"I told you, the keys find me," he bent down, grabbed one, and tucked it in his pocket. "When the time is right, it will be ready to be used."