A Diary Story; The Stolen Moments!

You would think, that after all these years. A heart, might begin to see a change. This heart of mine, still up to such thieving ways. Thirty five, the years; not even one day, will there be any regrets. For a heart and soul, wanting to in for life. The confession, will bear my soul. This, not a dilemma; this is my; unapologetic disclaimer “Every stolen moment, your love forever written on my heart. The love, etched deep in the crevices of the fine print! ” My soul, just can’t seem to bring myself, my heart, my love; be just another cookie cutter. Love, will leave such a lasting impression. Especially, when you let the last cut, be the deepest. There’s a love in me, that moves me to be. No, it compels my soul to be free. To let the heart, with the need to act this way. Walk it, like you talk it. Give it, even if you don’t always get it. It’s not about being clueless, but how love’s meant to be unconditional. Sometimes, you stumble; trying to capture a stolen moment. Confusion says, love, should be viewed as a trophy. Not seen as the gift, a heart should truly treasure. My soul, will wholeheartedly confess. Throw away the key, the chains that had me bound, broken. My heart, will never be a thief in the night. My love, will glaringly look you straight in the heart. To let you see, when it steals another moment. It doesn’t matter, whether day, or night. Who needs, to rely on sticky fingers; when love, is such a natural glue?

My love, the thief willing to again and again; boldly steal every loving glance. Whenever, the moment again arises. My heart, won’t rob you blind. But, if you truly don’t mind, and your love would be so kind? Arrest my heart, so that forever will be, a soul still stealing love. Not, just on Valentine; every day, until the end of time. What’s, truly at the heart of this; love. It’s not an addiction, but it’s so obvious. This love, could never be read, as being a fiction. My imagination, surely needed to play a role. But, an unscripted heart; what truly had a role to play. There’s no need, fix a heart not broken. No rehabilitation will ever be needed, when a soul is arrested, forever by the power of love. The temptation, letting the moment slip away; not seizing every opportunity. What’s a soul to do, when the heart embraces a love? That leads to a heart being, lifetime committed? Love commuted, likely to be a heart changed averted. Day after day, time; will again be the encounter. A heart conspiring, to move heaven and earth. A soul praying, to be found… blameless. For, a heart taken to be your own. Will be the love therein, capturing the soul. But yet freed, from its own solitary confinement. What does a heart have to lose, when forever exposes the soul, and bears your name? The stolen moment, when even the sun, the moon, and the stars don’t truly mind. When your heart uses the shimmering light, to help pull off what will become. The taking of a breath, in the name of love!

Dear, my diary; herein lies the entry. My heart, my soul; therein lies the confession. The true account, what led to; the Stolen Moments!

WCR

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