Second love

Second love came by on a Friday afternoon - an unexpected knock on my door. We talked and it was the easiest conversation I had in months.

Second love did not look the way I envisioned him in my head, neither did he speak or act the way I imagined. I supposed the universe has its funny way of making things happen at the right time, because I was ready to fall in love with my eyes closed. He welcomed me into the home of his heart and I stayed, studying the worn out walls of this hardened heart I wanted to just hold in the palm of my hands.

I studied the memories he immortalised in picture frames on the shelf. Then I studied the charred remains of those he threw into the fireplace to burn. I sat on the edge of the couch, trying to shake off the (very real) possibility that this could end in wreckage, that silly me was going to stumble and knock things over and break them - that my shaky hands would never be fit for a heart like his.

But then he came and sat beside me, took my hand in his and radiated a warmth unlike anything I've felt before. He spoke volumes to me without having to say a word. So I looked at him, buried my head in his chest and stayed, because maybe second love is the one we get right.