It's not my story. It's his.

She blew me away like Kansas homes fighting tornadoes at full strength. She was me, excluding the various male body parts that I possessed.

I have never met a more contradictive person. A heart so warm, every beat rivals the sun in efficiency. But like anyone aware of their vulnerability, she hides this star behind walls of brick, straws and sticks, including many other materials the three mud challenged brothers never revealed they found for their building projects. Romans would be jealous of the edifice that houses this heart of hers. 

I chased this well hid treasure for years. My age however blinded me from the fact that patience would have made me realize, I already had a place, not within the walls, but within the thump thump itself.

I have chosen many paths that have proven to be mistakes, errors in judgment, even sinful in nature. Yet this tale came to an end because of not choosing a path. By not making a choice, I believe I let this story run its course. In all honesty, now, I prefer making the wrong choice. This saves you the pain of not having taken the matter under your own control. Fate and the Devil are synonymous. 
I absolutely regret shaking his hand.

Heartache is a disease, complete with denial, addiction and a search coupled with a yearning for it to end. You were my cure, if only for a short time. I love you, heart, bones and soul. I hope to see you again once more before I meet my end.

Ignoring someone logically does not mean they do not exist. In my case, the Devil persists and thus blinds me from ever knowing if there will be more of these wondrous lessons to take steps my way. Cheeky bastard might not be done with the related tales. It’s not in his nature to reveal these things to me at a time of my choosing. But I’m open. I was never a good dancer, I respectfully decline, Sir fateful.  

Remember, it's not my story, it's part of his.

I just had to share these parts, because I fell in love with it.

Parts of a story,

By S. Hansen