2:49 a.m

And here I am, here again … Of course you will think: “I take this on, always with its problems” No, don’t worry, apart from insomnia, since it is 2:49 am I have no other serious problems. I wanted to tell you about the chills that pervade every corner of our body when we are, even if only, touched by the right hands. Those hands that make us feel more alive with every touch. I wanted to tell you about that discharge that passes through every fiber of our body, giving us energy bursts … with a simple touch. Each time it is as if it were the first, even just when he puts his hand on my arm, I feel every single cell reaching towards him, with the desire to merge and unite to become one. Every cell, every single cell in my body tends to his body, which seems to have been designed on purpose to wrap me in his arms … which seems to have been created specifically to render me. I wanted to tell you about those chills that make us move, that make us love, that ignite the passion in every millimeter of our body, pushing us, spurring us to seek contact again … to seek that contact from which we become addicted, because we do not want anything else. than to feel alive. Every time I feel like it’s the first, every time I feel every millimeter of my body light up like a flash of heat. A burning flame that drags with violence and force towards him, removing any decision-making ability, pushing me into the abyss of passion … a flame that never stops burning but can only be tamed.

STORY OF A BLIND HEART

It was at that moment that I found myself facing a dark figure with a veiled face. Suddenly, by chance, without my expecting her or her looking for me. We found ourselves, and all of a sudden my heart appeared on the palm of his right hand. Big, red and pulsating, big enough to allow me to recognize its various components in their smallest details.
The figure moved his right arm towards his chest, and our hearts met for the first time. Maybe minutes passed, maybe hours or maybe days, and the figure continued to hold my heart in its hand, while it beat in unison with the organ of the mysterious person. If then this figure was human.
Days and days passed, probably weeks, and the causes of our lives continued to be known.
Until, something changed. His right arm moved away from the figure's chest, taking his hand and heart with it. The separation brought a cold detachment between us, something akin to the Berlin Wall. Walls and walls to divide us; our people had lost their tune, they were no longer traveling on the same wavelength, nor were our hearts composing more wild musical chords. The figure began to emanate negativity, and this struck me deeply: my heart, up to that moment of a brilliant red, began to blacken. Black and gray took possession of me instant after instant, and the figure in front of me performed an action entirely new to me: taking the heart, it began to tighten. I fell to my knees, while a severe pain I had never felt struck not only my chest, but my whole body. The pain crept into every vein and artery of my body, every organ and system. Chills certainly not of cold began to flow inside me, and as I closed my eyes praying that all this would end, I felt big tears wet my cheeks. I opened my eyes again, and saw my heart, now entirely black, becoming dust in the hands of the figure.
So slowly my vision blurred, and, falling to the ground, as I saw for the last time the figure to which I had entrusted my own heart, I thought bitterly how blind I had been.

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