You told me to "be a rose." And I get it now, a rose sways to the whims of nature but remains to its stem, true to its roots—each wilted petal an emblem of resilience. I now wear the passage of time. I now wear my heart on my sleeve. I brandish my flaws and fallibility like a victor would their flag of coup. I put my armour on, while making sure that it doesn't rust and set so that I may never be able to take it off. I understand now. A human is a creature of imperfection. Love is something with which most of us are familiar, but none of us will ever, fully understand it. It is the greatest commodity on the shelf of life, but alas, some are denied access to the mart. This thing, Love, is bigger than any of us. It is a force that propels us through the annals of time. It is a compass to which we must stay true. It is a spirit with whom we must pirouette, whilst trying not to get dizzy. To love isn't to take one's hand in yours, but rather, to capture one's heart. This is the key—with this, may you unlock its chambers. It is central in tragedies, comedies, and histories—and beyond the written word.
YOU ARE READING
The Heart's Tempo
Horror• Love • Romance • Poetry • Prose • Emotional • Philosophical • Heartfelt • Self-discovery • Connection • Desire • Vulnerability • Existential • Identity • Metaphor • Passion • Youthful • Lyrical • Intimate • Journey • Reflection ...
