“There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.”

― George Bernard Shaw

What transcends the boundaries of imagination, stirring me from a deep slumber? What whisks me away from the tangible world, transporting me to a realm where time seems to stand still, and passion reigns supreme? Once you’ve savored desire, it’s as if nothing else carries the same scent, taste, or sensation. Gazing into each other’s eyes unlocks an entirely new dimension, a universe where everything feels weightless, where every touch is as gentle as a feather’s caress. It’s a magnetic attraction, a form of chemistry so profound and mysterious that it compels two distinct elements to meld and fuse in a shared energy. It’s a blend of emotions, a palette of colors that ignite light and radiance, an aura that envelops the love of two souls bound by destiny.

Desire is not your typical everyday dream or wish; it’s not as simple as wanting something and having it. It encompasses all those unspoken words, the near touches that don’t quite graze the soft skin, and all the lips that yearn for a kiss, all silently yearning for acknowledgment. During those midnight conversations with my soul, when sleep’s embrace felt distant, I could sense arms wrapped around me, and I wished to halt time for just one more precious second to savor that intense DESIRE.

Desire resides deeply within my soul, not easily accessible, requiring a special force to bring it to the surface. I had to summon the strength and determination to raise my gaze and look ahead, banishing the weaknesses and uprooting the fears that held me back. I realized that burying what remained only allowed it to grow stronger. Going deeper didn’t signify releasing my soul; instead, it meant providing a stronger foundation for its resurgence. Nothing could stand in the way of what emerged from this process of healing, steadfast in the face of the approaching storms.

“I have outlasted all desire,
My dreams and I have grown apart;
My grief alone is left entire,
The gleamings of an empty heart.

The storms of ruthless dispensation
Have struck my flowery garland numb,
I live in lonely desolation
And wonder when my end will come.

Thus on a naked tree-limb, blasted
By tardy winter’s whistling chill,
A single leaf which has outlasted
Its season will be trembling still.”

― Alexander Pushkin

Desire was that sensation that kept me resilient even in moments of weakness and shallow breaths. It tugged and hauled me from the deepest corners of my being. It straightened my posture and strengthened my heart because emerging victorious in the game of desire was no simple feat. Once I had attained desire, I had to brace myself for passion and truth. The longing might be tumultuous, but living with desire was an achievement. I embraced and savored what had kindled that passion within me because there was nothing more potent than the desire for moments that made everything feel worthwhile.

The unspoken truth and the words left unsaid acted as the anchor that kept my desire alive. Words weren’t necessary; not much was needed to see what pure desire could accomplish. I felt the burns but didn’t see the scars. It was a fire, silently burning within me, residing through sleepless nights and endless days of anticipation. I craved the silence, even though I couldn’t hear the voice, but I sensed my skin tingling with an unfamiliar vibration that sent shivers down my spine. I remained still, yet something stirred within me, igniting sparks deep within my core, rendering me vulnerable and insatiable. It wasn’t the ailment I feared; it was the desire itself. Losing it was worse than having it with the wrong person I had once believed to be the one.

“She leaned forward and caught at his hand, pressing it between her own. The touch was like white fire through his veins. He could not feel her skin only the cloth of her gloves, and yet it did not matter. You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer.”

― Cassandra Clare

As she leaned forward, her hand reached out and grasped mine, gently pressing it between her own. The touch sent a sensation like white fire coursing through my veins. Oddly, I couldn’t feel the texture of her skin; it was only the fabric of her gloves against my hand. But that detail didn’t matter. Her touch had ignited something within me, like a heap of ashes bursting into flames. I remember wondering once why love was so often described in terms of burning. Now, with this conflagration blazing within my own veins, I had my answer.

It was as if her touch had breathed life into the embers of my heart. Every word we exchanged, every glance we shared, stoked the flames of this newfound connection. I had never experienced anything quite like it before, this all-consuming passion that made my heart race and my thoughts scatter like sparks.

Love, I realized, was indeed a fire that could consume and transform. It wasn’t a gentle warmth but a raging inferno, and I found myself willingly surrendering to its irresistible power. In her presence, I felt reborn, like a phoenix rising from its own ashes, and I knew that this fiery love would forever alter the course of my life.

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