There is nothing left after you, except a cold dark silence... A love left behind, misunderstood! I lifted my head high enough to hurt. A beautiful, young, white love drank my tears through the night. I bled, yet I stood firm... Despite the wound, I will go on... Thousands of men have loved me...some knowing, some not! I was dreamed of—parched for, desired... But I was only a vessel...Without a heart... After you, nothing remained within me...
# Heartless I have no heart— not in the way you mean it, that fist-sized muscle keeping time like a metronome in the ribcage. I have no heart for sentiment, no heart for the small kindnesses you press into the palm of a stranger. No heart for mercy, for the soft words that mend what cruelty has torn. I have no heart for love, that ancient madness that drives the young to poetry and the old to memory. No heart for the ache of missing someone in a crowded room. And yet— I cannot explain why I turn back to help the fallen. Cannot explain why your sorrow travels through me like current, why your joy lights me from the inside. Perhaps I am not heartless at all. Perhaps I simply have a heart made of different matter— not flesh, but something harder to find, easier to hide. Perhaps it beats in a language you have forgotten how to hear.
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