Whenever we hold hands my heart flutters with joy.
It is a shame he doesn't feel the same way about me. Rather than receiving the love and affection I crave, he handed me whatever he had on him at the time, then said goodbye without a second glance.

He is shielded by a lush rainforest of metallic black mirrors that seem to stretch on forever, protecting his heart from those who would seek to claim it. And winning it is no easy feat.

I found myself in the depths of despair, yet I managed to draw upon a hidden reservoir of resilience and courage. I summoned a holocaust of hope as I watched his version of love slip away, a tightrope walking without a net.

His words echoed, a haunting refrain:
"In time, what will be will be."
A dirge, not a love song, but still I hold on to hope,
my heart refusing to surrender.
I won't let silence keep me from speaking
the truth my heart needs him to hear.

What do you do with a heart that refuses to give up or let go,
a heart that's lost its way? Yet still, I nurture hope,
persistent as twins vying for space,
endless as the wait for an opportunity.
One day, I'll teach my soul to reflect sunlight,
to hold dear the words dear John never spoke.