He carries a cache of wooden keys, crafted to unlock splintered hearts. Warped and bowed from years of misuse and salty tears, each heart presents a unique challenge.
Rusty hinges complain if asked to open, struggling to engage idle gears. Weather worn, left to despair in harsh elements, each heart holds a treasure trapped inside. No matter the care the locksmith imparts, no matter how gentle he persuades, some few hearts are forever immovable. Closed, shackled to past hurts, unable to release their grief.
He carries a cache of wooden keys, crafted to unlock splintered hearts. Can he open yours?
Thin spiral notebook 
I want those keys.
(I’ve been reading your blog today … as always, I enjoy the way you connect words and tell a story in simple, poetic ways.)
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Gorgeous – the very first sentence made me smile. Love the way you used the prompt!
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ohhhh I really really love this. What a concept! And your new look is fantastic!
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Oh my, those opening lines are perfection- have you ever read a grouping of words and felt it just kinda sing in your head? That.
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Beautiful. He has opened, He has healed, He is healing. He will continue to heal. A needed reminder for me today. Thanks.
And yes, rust holds the past. I find it not only interesting, but inviting!
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I often hope there is such a locksmith, a man or woman or spirit that can heal the hearts, or open them up again. Less like Cupid and more like Ghandi.
those keys are gorgeous, the picture had me smiling in spite of myself.
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Oh, I just loved this!
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That picture has so much history. Is it just me or is rust interesting? There are these old cars near where my 10-year-old lives with her other family and we always slow down and look at their rusted out frames.
anyway, great writing
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Just gorgeous. I love love love this!
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Sad but true. He can try to open mine.
Leslie
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