Murmur of the Heart
My heart fades. The petals of my youth fall one by one, spin in fatal emptiness of the past.
My thirsty soul affection observed with anguish the hourglass for hours without tenderness. Still solitary walks in the solstice equinox, without a hand to warm mine. Another cold season without anyone to warm my bed. Point of romantic getaways, no surprises to brighten my days. No future bright for me.
When will the delight of that moment when I found the ideal partner, sun of my sad existence, where I experienced the joy of getting up in the morning, with the sole motivation, anticipation of the review be loved?
Vibrate for the simple pleasure of caressing the head of another, full relaxation, a rainy Sunday. Live for these little pleasures banal, planted one by one into our temporal vortex called "daily"
A small soft word written in haste before leaving
few words in his ear, inspiring a smile.
of glances,
grafts memories
a spontaneous hug. This tenderness
yet I refused. I look for the key she flees. It reminds me of the past have scorned. It did for me but contempt. She has partnered with Life to confine myself to solitude, to condemn me to uncertainty.
before others, I smile and joy for me so basically extends to infinity of an Arctic desert. My sanctuary is an emotional night without dawn Saharan Africa, a door ajar, poorly kept. I left a few men enter and leave without a promise they made, never to return, without a last look back. A soul burns with love is easily abused.
My breath became audible groan. My eyes, was armed with a shield of tin. My conscience, this blind, I oriented the wrong direction. I closed up hope waiting for more favorable circumstances to romance. Without really knowing if I seek a friend in the features of the Ideal, or rather the Ideal in the guise of a friend. Nathalie Benoit
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