"Dreaming"
A heart in one hand, a dream in the other. The dream once rested upon the branches of the largest tree Eden had ever seen. The heart, barely identifiable from the scars it displays.
But a heart and a dream, nonetheless, exist I'm such proximity that the latter consoles the former and the former teaches the latter. In such a way, a life is formed; a bond is shared. Love would be soon to follow.
I guess, not love in the traditional sense, but a friendship lingering on the fence and tilting ever so slightly to one side. Knowing the joys of Eden, the dream could never accept anything else; knowing of the heart's pain, it couldn't bear to indulge in anything more than the friendship, of course.
"What a shame," thought the heart, "what I have to give is more precious than these scars our the branches of any tree. The paradise which runs out my veins trumps any sensation a dream could ever want." But the dream doesn't see. No, only the clouds grace its vision; memories slant its future.
"It is time," said the dream one day, "to return home." And with that, their time was lost and a hand was left empty. Unable to bear such a trial, the heart removed the stitches governing its scars, in hopes to join the dream in the end.
But, no, no heart nor dream is to be found.
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