A man’s heart can be a desolate abyss, devoid of warmth and solace.
Unlike a woman’s heart, a mother’s body, it knows no tenderness.
It knows no sacrifice.
It doesn’t know the sticky warmth of blood.
It remains unyielding, incapable of expanding to accommodate your desires.
It is a barren landscape, untouched by the nurturing embrace of love, a stark reminder of the cold reality of human existence.
Anthology of Eleos 