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Rated: · Other · Other · #1377266
I think of this as my heart. As who and what it beats for.
It sits there alone. Untouched. Not deformed. Waiting for the day that draws close. Near the flames which keeps it warm. Finally it comes. The untouched becomes touched and it deforms. Leaving it bruised, battered, and war torn. It heals itself, when though it is thought as dead. It lay motionless. Hoping and praying that it will be soon alone. And that day comes too. Just as the other passes it by. Now, serenity is here. It sits there alone. Waiting and willing to do battle yet again.
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