Saturday, 14 June 2014

cold hands, warm heart

“I'm not a romantic…but even I concede that the heart does not exist solely for the purpose of pumping blood.“
 I think far too many people conceal their feeling up to the point when they can’t let anything in or out anymore. Some of them build their walls high, afraid that someone might attempt to climb them and take advantage.

 But then you find someone. And , somehow, that person makes you go back to the best part of you. Suddenly, you seek safety in him. Before you realise it, the walls come crashing down. It’s a matter of trust, undressing your mind to unravel how vulnerable you are. It’s a hard decision and, once you make it, there’s no going back.

  You lie there, with no other choice than letting him touch your bare soul. Your heart begins to wear his fingertips. You find traces of him in your thoughts. You stumble against pieces of him everyday : in a photo , between the lines of a book, in the lyrics of a song. It’s almost like you feel him breathing in your pulse, tangling in your veins. It’s an unexplainable sense of belonging that you refuse to let go of. A bond, or some strings that bring each other together.


  1. Imi place ca ai ales sa scrii textul in engleza. Suna mult mai bine.

    1. Multumesc, m-am gandit sa incep sa scriu si in engleza de ceva timp ^_^