I pray God grant me the proficiency

to make time with you last longer;

insight to use it wisely;

and knowledge to cauterise buds of doubt

before they flower into regrets.
But if time granted me more time,
I would be brazenly selfish.
I would slow its stride and take it firmly by the hand.
Every thought I ever thought,

and every feeling I ever felt would be openly expressed.

I am tired of concealing the smile tattooed on the face of my heart.
I much prefer to bare it to the world.
Instead, I sit alone in the company of make-believe;
scavenging time and the rubble of memories

to determine which are real and which are contrived.

I am exhausted by the low-hanging fog of uncertainty,

And the odd stillness that envelopes me,

making it harder to make sense of the enduring silence.
It forces me to bite my tongue and manage feelings.

The heart is a passionate storyteller.
It is talkative; but chooses to leave many things unsaid.
It thrives on intuition and is all-knowing.
It dislikes U-turns.
It is a realist who eagerly takes leaps of faith;
a pugilist who telegraphs its punches;
and a pacifist who turns the other cheek.

But the heart is not spineless.
It will take a stand, alone if necessary,

because it understands its own heart.
It will champion compromise

but remains true to itself.