"Do you believe in Destiny or Soul mate?" She asked while we're both laying flat on the shiny wooden floor boards of my dance studio. I shifted to my side and she did the same our faces approximately an inch from each other. I could feel her warm breath brushing on my lips her breathing even and then slow. We we're still flushed, a thin layer of sweat is covering her forehead to her prominent collarbone from a finished set of rumba or tango or whatever dance that I don't remember since all I saw while dancing was her serene face and the feel of her body against mine drove me crazy to the point of near delusion. I looked her in the eyes and answered her wholeheartedly. "I do now. But before I don't." She looked down while biting her lower lip and shyly asked. "What made you believe in them now?" redirecting her eyes to mine. I brought my fingers up her chin and softly sighed. "You." And as her smile widened I closed the gap between us, gently placing my lips against hers and I swear for a moment we are one.

They say LOVE is an unstoppable force. You can hide it but you can't run from it. Once you pop you can't stop! Love comes with pain, the more you love a person the more pain it can cause you, once it fail. What if your TRUE LOVE turns to be your nightmare? A nightmare that can haunt you anytime. Will you allow yourself to be in that bad dream again and fight so hard and turn it to your day dream? It takes a lot to be with the same person who loves you, yet crushed you like nobody else can. What can be that one thing that can mend a broken heart and a wounded soul? Will you open that same door that you closed because of that same person?

Every night I empty my heart, but by morning it's full again. Slowly, droplets of you seep in through the night's soft caress. But don't I overflow with thoughts of us, an aching pressure that gives me no respite. Love cannot be contained; the neat packaging of desire splits asunder, spilling crimson through my days, long languishing days that are now bruised, tender with yearning, spent searching for a fingerprint, a scent, a breath you left behind. ~ICTS~