In several occasions she had invited gentlemen into her bed, but never into her life. They had touched her body, but gotten nowhere near her heart. They had left the warmth of their touch on her skin, but not a trace of it could be found in her heart. Her memories were filled with moments of passion, but never of intimacy. She welcomed physical proximity but insisted on emotional distance. Throughout the years she had encountered several gentlemen worthy of her attention, but never had she met anyone worthy of one of her tears, of one of her heartbeats.
From an early age she decided her heart was hers, and wasn’t meant to be shared. For the most part her heart was a willing prisoner, it rarely protested of its confinement. However, from time to time it wondered what was out there. It was in these rare moments that she considered the possibility of allowing herself to feel something, with the modest hope that the other person felt the same way. But when she thought of the prospect of giving her heart away to someone so recklessly, to give someone the ability to hurt her, she immediately gave up on the idea and continued life as usual.
The men in her life brought her momentary amusement, moments of laughter, hell even moments of joy, and that was all she expected from them. She thought it was silly to go searching for happiness with a man, instead she found it in herself, in life and the beautiful treasures of everyday. Her happiness was hers and that made her smile.