…should I draw you the picture of my heart it would be what I hope you would still love though it contained nothing new. The early possession you obtained there, and the absolute power you have obtained over it, leaves not the smallest space unoccupied.” Abigail Adams (in a letter to John Adams)
Picture my heart 35 years ago, so young and supple, untouched by worry over children or jobs or parents failing health. It was strong and open, ready to be taken and cherished, certain to be loyal and true. Now picture you, a quiet and lonely young man, one whose heart was wary of love, for in his experience love was a tight fist, a choke hold, an agreement destined to be broken.
Yet you found the courage to pick up a pencil and began to draw, soft and velvety lines upon my heart. The picture you drew in those early days remain…your endless wonder at love’s ability to nurture and forgive, your amazement at the power of love’s growth, your excitement at the possibilities love could open within a life.
There in my heart the images remain… when I was first learning to drive, you would drive your car in front of mine on those mornings when fog hung thick in the air, the four square tailights on the black ’71 Mach One my beacon to follow along the mysterious path before me. And there you are, sitting on the floor playing games with our son, while I go to college classes at night. Still later, when my parents divorce sends me reeling, you step in with your signature strenght and common sense to care for my mother and me. Not very long ago, our only child grown and gone, you filled our empty nest with comfort, caring, and love.
So here I am, my heart older now and scarred with the hurts of time. Yet these are the pictures which remain indelibly inked upon it. The pictures that have given you power and provenance over this beating organ of mine. It is yours now, forever. There is no space unoccupied.
Option Four, Timed Writing