My heart is that of a woman’s – unalike the heart of a man that’s inside yours. Be kind.
It’s not easy everytime I stumble upon a desolated heart – with me thereafter weighing if a touch of compassion could dilute a sorrowful mood even for a briefest moment. Life has equipped me with sufficient insight into pain which makes sensitive struggling spirits not hard to spot. I’ve tried. Hoping sincerely my love serves as good drops of rain that temporarily soothe those few afflicted souls.
Now I wonder how you could have said those things during my absence. Perhaps you should know: In my length of period in this realm, a pattern has sort of ensued. It makes me wonder if I just sound dumb or look naïve or if it’s due to my ethnicity. I’ve gotten used to instances when “some” would assume if I could give more than the decent fellowship and emotional solace I’ve dispensed comfortably. How many times have I been burned by misconceptions; when my warmth and admiration were mistaken for something else.
You and I are birds of imagination that fly and perch on wires of inspiration we manage to find — largely attributable to our love of writing. Here where mythical characters, feelings, situations are within grasp because they’re free; where virtually everything is hardly real. And art getting done is its sweetest reward. Who doesn’t get that?
Yes yes women of the world catch on to your assertions how you’re quite beautiful and brilliant and beyond anyone’s reach. Even so, please get that there also exist gals like me who’d rather swoon over blondies that possess expertise on very technical matters.
You were smart enough, no doubt, to discern that if there had been any “illusions” from my end at the time, I would have beaten the speed of light being the one to initiate and sustain the connection with you. But we know the story and how it ended. It’s in vain to give it another spin. Mind, whatever harsh words and wounding remarks I’d leafed through from your pages I’d be willing to let go. Surely, harmony can be achieved minus the complexities — because I hold on to the view your style and the furnishings inside your pad are still worth a visit.
Your presence in the sphere is undeniably valuable. My empathy and reverence for your special flair can transcend whatever misunderstanding took place, hopefully; since the distance between your door and mine has long been established. Best wishes.
A favorite from Miss Di Ross for the song’s fetching lyrics:
Let me watch you go with the sun in my eyes
We’ve seen how love can grow now we’ll see how it dies.