If there’s one thing I’ve learned, the “heart’s work” is never done, so an updated version has now been posted. Thank you for reading. “Don’t judge, don’t fix, just read.” ❤️~P.
My early duties at work were greeted by this tiny creature at rest. As my left arm raised to grasp the cool, metal door handle, my eyes swept further up and focused into view an outline of a petite, heart-shaped moth. At the time, I did not have my phone to take a picture, but grumpily in a damnit-you-have-to-do-it decision, quickly paced double-time back to my desk in the other building and grabbed it.
As I’m retracing my steps back to the brushed-steel door, all I can think of is that my timing is now off and I’m going to lose almost 10 minutes in my morning work routine. Will the moth still be poised on the doorframe when I return? Will this extra effort of walking a bit further in high heels be worth my feet possibly hurting earlier in the day, rather than the usual after 4pm-ish? As it happened, yes, it was worth it, and the cost of sore feet is forgotten. I am thankful for this moth still being there and its conspicuous choice of a place to slumber in the not-quite-wee-morning hours of this Friday morning.
As I’m now taking pictures, not one-single photo is capturing its patterned details in sharp focus. I’m imagining people inside this building looking at my unexplained, looped behavior outside of picture-taking followed by scouring with displeasure at my phone screen, then back to pointing my phone at the door, repeatedly doing it all over again. Eyes darting, brow scrunching, my lips pursing followed by uttering foul language and shaking my head. A lip-reader is not necessary to clearly comprehend what I am saying.
Others are all on the other side of the glass, inside the building, and cannot see what I see. My realization of this speeds up my pattern of failed attempts at getting a “captured image” of what is so remarkable to me. The fuzzy pictorial representation of this thumbnail-sized moth, which in real-life has a lovely mirrored design of zig-zagged, etched-brown and soft-white, rippling across folded wings with the most exquisite arced antenna, just will not be documented clearly in a photograph today.
Phone lowered, I lean in as close as possible to this heart-moth, mindful that someone just might open the door at any moment and slam me in the face, but it’s important to put its details in my mind since they cannot be stored in my phone. The stillness of this moth, its perfectly symmetrical wings making such a precise heart-shape, I am amazed that some things so small as this can appear to be so perfect. A careful imprint is collected in my mind for later observation.
This seemingly perfect heart, is completely contradictory to my own. And right now, I believe I know why I am so attracted to heart-shaped things: these are the “whole heart” forms that comfort and reassure me that not all hearts are broken. These photographs and imprints, when I look back to them, they are reminders of what was, and each new heart found, is a symbol of what may be.
That said, is each found heart “perfect” and “whole”? Does every one need to be? Absolutely not. I try to see each exactly as it is: unique, expressive, and the “not quite perfect” ones are probably the most interesting to me. When I see a heart shape that is “in the eye of the beholder” or “asymmetrical” or “almost a heart,” those are especially profound to me. A heart is a heart. I wonder if I will continue to see these along my journey? I hope the answer is, yes, and only time will tell whether a future found heart will be saved in a photograph or preserved in my mind, or remembered in my own heart. ❤️ ~Paula