The Key

I sat at another cafe today; contemplating life. Letting go, Sunday’s. Listening to Spanish rhymes. Muchas palabras. Como “nadie” “corozon roto” etc.

Yo solo. Pues, otra dia.

I look into my messy purse. Keys.

So many keys. To past lives, I surmise.

Keys to flats. Condos. Old office buildings. College days. Old friends’ homes. Hotel rooms. Hilton honors (not so much)

Sheraton rewards (usually)

These damn keys. They never asked me to bring it back. They still live there.

“Please come back anytime” I recall these words.

“Anytime you want to getaway. This place is yours” — empty promises I made at the time.

The keys haunt me. I look through my contacts and their keepers stare back at me. I look through my email and their pictures, their words, loving exchanges take me right back.

These keys are on a chain of hearts that I once wanted more than life.

Today, I can’t even give them back.