my foolish heart

The things we treasure most in life are always the most neglected. They get mistreated and taken for granted because you think – because you know – that no matter what happens, they’ll always find their way back to you. This way, you can get away with alot more, and that’s what everyone seems to let themselves do.

After that knowing that look that marks the start,

that eloquent smile that whispers forever,

those matching pulses you’re sure will never skip a beat.

There comes a point thereafter where you begin to fall into a never ending pattern. Once you get sick of it, you’ll feel yourself start to violate it as your heart starts to rebel.

Repeatedly letting one another down, you lack that profound connection that used to penetrate your souls and make you see all those flaws as perfection.

How does it come to be that, despite knowing all this, we still give in to that initial flicker of ardour so deep inside of us?

Is it fear? Anxiety? Curiosity?

Or is it simply because we think we know better?

Common sense turns into naïvety, and we somehow become ignorant to the pain we’re brought to endure. Judgment gets clouded, and any relic of rationality is widely shut out. It’s amazing how innocent and alluring the idea of something so exceedingly brutal seems and how it brings us together. Yearning for the lost art of love, each envying the next for the things they fail to see in themselves. But if these things we hold so dearly in our hearts are used in such a way that provides no peace of mind, what does that say about love?

And after knowing what I myself have inflicted on past souls, do I really want to let myself be loved?