The hearts wants, what the heart wants

It’s a dream of a life a time. A feeling of an age, timeless and unforeseen. The wish of the small and the wish of the brave. It’s the one truth in all the lies. The thing that makes us fall and the same thing that makes us rise. It’s a single idea with no explanation. A distinct thought we run to and from by delight and by fear. Just has if it doesn’t exist, we deny it and for the same unsinkable reason, we embrace it. We drank it and we befuddle ourselves till we fall with hideous smile of happiness. It’s you… It’s me… It’s us in a speck of dust, in the air, in the trees, in our sand and in our water. It’s the world on the strings of the puppeteer of fate, the one that doesn’t exist but we all believe in. And for some strange reason, for a mere thought of greatness, a hope of unbearable love, a give in to all with the reciprocity of the unexplained, we think, we see, we touch and we close our eyes to the unusual. Not to not see it, but to perfect it by the darkness of the shutted eyes of imagination. And still, the image doesn’t go away. The fertile imagination doesn’t perfect it and we are delightful stuck with the meaning of beauty. We embrace its cold, its flaws, its temper and suddenly, we can no longer run from it all. It’s as if they were right all along, as if I don’t have the power of refusal or the will of choice. He has spoken what he wants and there is nothing that can be done but to suffer in the hands of the handless muscle that drives men to insanity. In the end, “the hearts wants, what the heart wants”.