Paper heart

The wind is blowing scraps of a paper down the street. Lonely paper heart landed at my feet. I picked it up. I am caressing little white heart with my forefinger. I do not know to whom you belong, little heart. Maybe to the paper doll, or you suppose to be a Valentine, or a part of the Birthday wishes from one little girl to her mom on Mother's Day. I touch paper heart with my forefinger. The heart turns pink. Little paper heart you loved to much, because somebody cut you out from the paper with scissors and gave you as an expression of love. Paper heart turns red and I can feel a heartbeat in my forefinger. I have to release you now, you don't belong to me. The wind will take you, where is your place. The wind picked the heart and carried it away up the street toward the projects, where children were playing in the park. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville 2011 Pottsville, 11/1/2011