"Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come." -- Rumi
Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,
Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,
Let our flight be far in sun or blowing rain—
But what if I heard my first love calling me again?
Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,
Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;
Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door—
But what if I heard my first love calling me once more?
Voices from the distant past suddenly materialize, unexpectedly, amazingly. What were once faded echoes, are now crystal clear and compelling.
There is an old bromide that asserts that you cannot squeeze toothpaste back into the tube. That is true. On the other hand, perhaps you can use the "paste" that you squeezed from the tube of love and let lie fallow--a paste that has not yet completely hardened--to patch and fill the fissured surfaces of the hearts you've broken. Perhaps even the most inept mason among us is capable of that task, using trowel or pallet knife as appropriate, before the sky fades from blue to black.