You can feel your heart beat, but you never know when it stops.
I sit outside on the lawn at night and gaze at the stars, wondering if they gaze back down unto me, but knowing they will never answer.
My soul is the adhesive between my heart and mind. My heart limberly tosses me among the clouds, making my iota of life ever apparent; my mind would divert my eyes from the six foot deep chasm just before my toes.
My eyes... they no longer lie blind at rest in the pitch. When they are too heavy to force open, my mind pulls photographs from an arid coffin and begins to play them one by one, each one electrocuting the soft traces of love surviving within my heart.
The muscles in my arms wash away with uselessness. My fists are no longer peace makers, nor are they even fists at all. They are now open palms, hushing the crowd and pushing down upon the storm surge that I never really saw before. I can no longer threaten, for I can no longer enforce. A common problem among gentle tyrants..
My lover is a self-denying alchemist. She has taken my leaden heart and transmuted it into a feathery white gold. There is something wondrous and arcane about just the warm air surrounding her. When she walks by a cold room, the goosebumps take flight from the skin of its residents. I was stubborn to let my goosebumps go, but the fire in her eyes makes me trust her with them. Her mystical eloquence is what makes it possible for me to change for her with happiness, instead of protest.
