My real heart...
The one that's hidden, deeply buried underneath the clothes, the external gestures, the words that come out of my seemingly harmless lips, underneath the icy, sometimes ambiguous eyes, clothed beneath layers of Nefertiti-like pride. That heart is fragile.
Fragile because she is precious,
she wishes to remain unmaimed,
she wishes to love and be loved
but never feel pain, never know loss, insecurity, hurt.
But she is not hidden from you,
and if I think her to be extremely precious, you deem her to be worth more.
You deem me to be worth more.
What can I give in exchange for a soul? All the wealth of the world?
Why did you create man to be so? Is that your image?
Is that how you are? How you feel?
Then you must be brave to love me.
To love us all.