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I think it’s terrifying to admit to oneself that the person you’ve been investing time and effort, reading and writing about, just may not be the one. 
Anytime the mind realizes the realities of the heart, there’s a brief moment where everything splits. Everything feels too intense. Too raw. Too sacred. Too full of life. It’s within these moments that the body cannot exist. It just cannot exist. Being pulled in so many directions. Being present and wanting to disappear. It’s a wondrous performance the body gives. The aching at the tips of fingers. Bitten lips to forbidden words. Reminiscent on the bodies past lovers held. How does the mind and heart cope in this act of beauty? Because anything involving mind, body and soul is the definition of pure art. Things can get lost or forgotten in the dance of a forsaken heart. Can we ever actually just remember the self? The self in its entirety? The self that brought us happiness and pain and loved deeply and fell softly, how do we teach the art of tragedies if the only thing consistent is denial between bones? Between flesh? Remain true to art of love is what should be reminded. Pain is nothing to a heart that never fears. And although many lovers may never know the secrets that remain hidden under foreign tongues, A body can never forget the sensation of a kiss. The heart knows what the heart wants.

Written: March 2, 2017 

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