I feel her sorrow, listen to the tears that will never flow, in a voice that sets my existence on fire with meaning.
I find myself thinking of her in my arms, and of her smile, so bright every time I see it I am nearly blinded by its brilliance.
Such perfection could not be described if a thousand poets strived for a thousand years. Such pain could not bee healed by all the physicians of all the ages.
How does one mend the incurable, for surly her wounds are deeper than any medicine can reach, save one. That thing that man, and woman has written about for millennia, and dreamt of since ages long forgotten. I speak of course of that rarely seen balm known as a love so deep, that it suffuses the souls with its fire.
I feel her sorrow, and say “no more,” I will give her my life just to see her smile one last time. I would tear out my heart to hold her in my arms, if ever I call her my love, and she calls me hers, then a life well spent it shall be, and not a thing shall I regret.
To heal a heart, requires a heart in return, a heart of love, and filled with a determination to be loved in turn.
So let the stars themselves fall upon us, for we shall dance in the show of lights it creates, and our love shall grow until it fills the heavens with a light to shame the sun. To heal a heart, requires a heart in return.