The Key to My Heart

I read a story a long time ago.  It was sweet and sappy.  At the time I didn't comprehend the symbolic gesture.  Now that I have reached an age of moderate wisdom, I understand completely.

It sounds a bit trite, giving someone the key, literally, to your heart.

It isn't the key itself, be it bejeweled or golden, or like the key in the story--a simple silvery key blessed with a kiss and a promise.  It might have been the key to a diary, an overnight bag or a jewelry box. It really doesn't matter.

The woman in the story searched for such a key to place in a letter she wanted to pass on to a man she loved.  It was a bit silly, a teen-age movie type of thing.  Would he understand what the key represented?  Probably not.

The need to pass the key along was overwhelming.  She could see his eyes tearing, feel his heart opening.  It had been awhile since she felt so strongly. She took the chance.

I read the passage a dozen times.  It made so little sense.  I could almost hear my love guffawing at the thought of receiving a useless little key.

In the story, the man of her dreams did just that.  Crumpling the letter, key and all, tossing it toward the compactor to be headed for the landfill...He would make no commitment, no promises.  He would ignore it all, avoiding ever mentioning it to anyone except perhaps as a joke.

The woman, however, felt differently.  She had given the key as if it was a real part of herself. 

The story took years for me to understand.  He thought she wanted his soul, but she was offering hers.  She didn't want his whole life, just a piece of it.

The story touched me.  When we love we give ourselves fully.  We don't think about not being loved in return.  We accept it as fact.  We KNOW.  And so, we give the key, without expectation of return.  The key is a symbol that the person you love will always have a safe place to come.  He (or she) will need no appointment, no calling card. The key can open the heart and soul on any given day.

I've known my love for more than forty years.  Love is not stagnant.  It crests and ebbs.  It pauses.  Sometimes it seems comatose. That's when you need the key, to unlock the door and let the love flow in, the meanness out.

That little key isn't worth a dime by itself, yet as soon as you give it away it becomes precious.  It represents the place you can go without reservation, the place you belong.  You're safe there.

When you have a chance, find a little key.  Present it to someone you care about with a note that explains why you chose that special person to receive the key to your heart.  At worst, you might feel a bit foolish and I won't guarantee the key won't land in the trash.

At best, you will share a mutual gift of a safe haven for your secrets.

Personally?  I think the little silvery key will end up tucked away in a memory box, being brought out when the one you love is sad or lonely or thinking of you.  After awhile, he or she will begin to believe and see the significance of the little key.

Oh, by the way, the man in the story?  He wasn't as cold as he seemed.  Like all good love stories, it had a happy ending.