What do I really feel? Do I feel lust? Love? I feel like my heart's made of marshmallow, soft and maybe kind of shallow. But sometimes I think its like clay, easily molded to what my mind tells it to be. What is love? Is it the secrets shared in kisses under the rain. Is it the awe and wonder at the flying lanterns in the sky. The surprise of finding miracles in the middle of desserts. The cool breeze of the sea at night.
Is love the hands that hold me together when I think I'm shattering but whose hands are these? That which know who I've been and where I was. Why do you hold me once and yet let go. We danced to the music of our souls, we talked with the demands of our minds, yet that momentary waltz all but ended too soon even before I knew the music stopped. That momentary music that paused in the middle of the dance. I was left hanging and now I don't know where to go. Will you at least let me go? My Pied Piper of Hamelin. Take off this huge rock that you have lodged between my heart and mind. Your story is unfinished and I really hate it so.
You are a coward, a "Peter Pan". Who talks so much of the world and human nature. Yet you test too much the patience of a human heart. It is not in your hands.
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