The Thing Called Poetry

We live, hear words of love, feel tenderness, and at the same time experience how fleeting tenderness can be. Sadly, it seems I can't let you touch my heart. Not even the sharpest love can let someone feel another person's heartbeat for long, as a surgeon might, while holding a scalpel. I can't give you my heart to prove that I love you, because I want this love to go on. But you can hold, whenever you like, all the love and affection I have to give. The scent of cake you breathe in, the plush toy you pick up. Have you eaten the chocolate? Have you opened the music box? Those are everything in my heart: its scent, shape, taste, and music. You can even see my heart shining with joy for you in the reflection of that ring. There is, in fact, an alchemist living in everyone's heart, hoping to turn every soul into a poem that makes hearts skip a beat. The girl who is about to tell a story is watching you now. Her carefree eyes are the cover of this compendium of love. If you are gentle enough, then touch its opening page now. Theme: