My friend W, has had his heart ripped out of his chest. It’s been many months now, and still the sadness lurks behind his eyes. There are moments when he is not himself and I can’t seem to recognise my friend.
He now looks at women with microscopic lenses, as he truly believes daughters of Eve can never be trusted. Treachery and deceit runs in their veins.
Still anytime I look at my friend, really look at him; I know his heart longs for a special friend, someone to right all the wrong, someone to talk to, share his innermost thoughts, someone to love, who loves him back.
He’s sworn that next time; he’ll tread more cautiously, never again will he throw in line hook and sinker. He'll be as wise as a serpent, hawk-eyed ready to flee before it hits the ceiling.
But it breaks my heart, how do you really love, when you are afraid to love?