My inspiration is no longer with me; it exists miles and miles away from where I stand. It is encased in a man who stole my heart; it was a ruthless battle he knew he would win with no fight at all. I often ask myself, “What in the world would he want with that silly thing?” Perhaps he has a whole collection of them; shelves lined up from ceiling to the floor. Hearts upon hearts upon hearts. To him, I may be one of many; to me, he is the only one. I wonder what he could possibly be doing at this hour without me, wherever he is. Do his thoughts ever drift to me? To our countless nights we spent in each others arms, watching all kinds of movies, or the ones in which his hands never stopped exploring my body. I tell myself that I will never know, but there is a sneaky little thought that always rises up in my head; I know that if I needed to know, I would ask and he would tell me. I’d like to remember him as a man who stole my heart away and never looked back, but that is just a foolish thought from me.

I have his heart, too, kept in my pocket every day since the day we met. I’d like to believe it is just a bloody organ that could give him life or take it away, but I feel it will always be much more than that. He has been looking for it, trying to track it down. I ignore all the calls, all the emails, all the gossip from everyone. I may be a fool, but I prefer it that way. He is my only inspiration and he inspires more when I think of the desperation I hold for him, and he for me. This desperation has become a necessity, just as our love once was; so I will keep you miles and miles away from where I stand. I will keep you.

 

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