A Separating of Hearts
Tearing through the fabrics of dream like thoughts. Descending from the mezzanine of my own words. I hear the violins sing in the courtyard of my chest. Somber are they, pouring tears from their strings. From the place at which your hands used to caress. Calming your heart with mine, listening with a smile.
But now we must move on. Our paths are no longer in divergence; separation is our only chance. Dare we hold hands in the fear of our own insecurities, we shall only find anxiety. In that, we shall find resentment; for we will only lead ourselves from our own hearts.
It burdens me so, watching you let go. Our fingers once laced like lips locked in a kiss. Now I travel these unknown paths, and alone. Your voice distant in my head, but close in my heart. The fields before me stretch with golden weaves of wheat; reminding me of your sunrise locks. I smile, but we did not forfeit out of anger nor frustration.
But have given ourselves the chance to forge our ways in the brilliance of our own desires. For we have grown different in our wishes. We must learn to wield our hearts as we desire with no qualms of each other. Young are we, and old I wish not to find myself in the irritation of the weasel. Scouring at all with a vicious tongue. All in the name of my own fear to let go.
In all this, yes, I am perturbed in my own steps, as any would be at first. Lurking through darkness with no hand to hold, voices spindling games of doubt. Shadows collude just behind the skirts of light as fright consumes the edges of my pulse. Conspiring my demise with cleft eyes as I travel between their sullied fingers.
Their residue perverting my vision, but I give no breath to it. For I pray in the faith of who I am and what had led me to you. I pray, that the beasts you face, you overcome, I pray that the shadows that bleed between the roses of your garden; you severe their heads.
Leaving your garden in peace and your heart at ease. We may be as separate as the moon is to the sun. We may never be closer than the stars are to our reach; but we shall always be in the reaches of our thoughts, our hearts.
Someday, we may be forgotten as is the snow to spring. Though forgotten, our hands met for the teaching of the other and learning. We took our chance and I would give no other that time in my life. I hope you think the same, my drifting love.
Good bye, and may we love again.
Thank you for reading, did you find this touching?
If so, what about it touched your soul?
Stories like this can be yours to carry in your hand, A Man's Traveled Heart
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