Long
What is my heart?
My heart is an empty case, a shell without substance.
Or is my heartsomething else?
The source of care, to a man of freedom, to a man of carelessness?
What good is that?
It makes me long to see the perfection in another's eyes, but for also, the return of the favour, to be cared for and treated as a perfect imperfection.
For me to feed my heart, will only tease the flames of desire burning at the rest of my will. For an end, will always end. An end will always come.
But such beau... What could one long more? The beau of connection with another's soul. A crossing of path, take turns driving with another, one another
Nonsense, nonsense, only rough thought. Contemplations.
My heart is an empty case, a shell without substance.
Or is my heartsomething else?
The source of care, to a man of freedom, to a man of carelessness?
What good is that?
It makes me long to see the perfection in another's eyes, but for also, the return of the favour, to be cared for and treated as a perfect imperfection.
For me to feed my heart, will only tease the flames of desire burning at the rest of my will. For an end, will always end. An end will always come.
But such beau... What could one long more? The beau of connection with another's soul. A crossing of path, take turns driving with another, one another
Nonsense, nonsense, only rough thought. Contemplations.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is junk.