To know the meaning, the feeling of having my hands held… what a novelty! Yet will I ever? No, never! To dare even to think of love, of any emotion, of passion and joy, of light feet and a lighter heart, I can only remember.
I remember when, I didn't have a heavy heart, with dead senses, barely lifting their head to acknowledge a predator, ready to embrace that final gesture of love, of being enveloped by the mighty end.
When a voice, a call, a whisper, a dark promise late at night, a bright lie early in the morning; disappearing faster than a magic spell, as the mist in a scorching desert sun. No trace, not even of the salt from the sea.
As now the soul lingers, wondering what will it be? This life, that has left me. Time has been neither a friend nor foe. Time has just simply passed, at its pace, surely, constantly, lifting his hand as he waves by.
i wonder to whom is this written and who will read it.. very deep stuff.. much deeper than my simple man-brain can comprehend...
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