روايات وقصص ضمن Like A Handprint On My Heart

They're staring up at nothing, and I can barely see them through all my tears. I finally make myself press my hand against his chest, desperately trying to feel a heartbeat. My fingers are trembling so bad, and when they touch his skin, it's so cold it makes me want to pull back. But I keep my hand there, searching for any tiny sign of life. There's nothing. Just... nothing. Where there should be a heartbeat, there's just this awful emptiness.

But they cannot stop time. The sun rises and sets over our heads. Over our hearts. And every morning, I wake up and feel how strong you hold me. Every morning, I feel how strong your heart beats. Over and over again. Your hand, your face, your eyes. It's like a heartbeat. It' s my blood. My life force. Its power. It feels stronger, brighter. Stronger every day. And its love, its love is something that makes me smile everyday. Even as I sit here, writing these lines, looking into the mirror, telling myself I've got this. I'm okay. I'm fine. Just fine. But sometimes I need someone to tell me, so that it doesn't all go wrong…

My Hope. The world narrowed to a single point...bring her back. I pushed harder, my feet carving deep impressions into the soil. I followed her scent through the thick undergrowth until suddenly... I stopped. Not because I wanted to. But because something forced me to. Right there, carved into the bark of a tree, was a symbol drawn in blood. A handprint. Small. Too small to belong to a warrior. My chest twisted. “Hope…” I whispered, my voice cracking in a way it never had before.

My hand burned like I was cradling a lump of burning coal, and my heart thumped like a beast in my chest. I needed her. Melody. I needed her to come to curb the fear in my heart.

My heart hammered in my chest, not from fear, but from something I couldn’t quite place. He stopped just inches away, his face close enough for me to see the tired lines etched beneath his eyes. I smiled softly, unsure why I was doing it, but somehow needing to. Slowly, I reached for his hand, large, warm, and familiar, and let my fingers trace the rough callouses on his palm.

"You are and always will be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, I love you." ( the image of a golden pink heart) After reading it my hands started shaking and I dropped the card on the floor my heart started beating fast and I took in my hands my Florentine heart charm, which was the gift from that person I loved so much. "It can't be, this is not happening I am hallucinating, I am dreaming is this possible," I said out loud. When I heard a voice I thought I would never hear again in my life. "Hello, beautiful you missed me"...

He'd always paid more attention to his quality of life. As I thought more about it, it figured that perhaps the handprint on the window was slightly smaller than ours because it had somehow shrunk while drying out. I thought that I must be overthinking it. How could I suspect my husband of cheating on me just because a weird handprint had appeared in the bathroom? However, I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that had been gnawing at me lately. I kept thinking about how my relationship with Rory seemed to have become somewhat dry recently.

He holds out his hand to me and I take it, because why not? I'm going to enjoy every bit of what this night has to offer because when it's all over, I'll be going back to my prison. Dan's hand finds mine and his thumb traces soft circles on my palm as he holds me close. In that touch, I feel a sense of belonging, as if our hearts are orchestrating a symphony of their own, playing a melody that belongs solely to us.

I placed my hand on his already pale one and held it. It filled my heart with warmth, and tears started rolling down my cheeks again. I thought of every touch, every feeling, every hold, every kiss he had ever given and shut my eyes tight. The beeping sound grew in my ears and so did the sound of his heart beat.

The curse on my heart leaves me with only a few short years—just eight years left. I press a hand against my chest, feeling the sharp, invisible spike that’s slowly tightening, constricting every beat. It’s not just a curse, it’s a ticking clock. And as much as I try to live with it, there are nights like this when it feels unbearable. I feel like going insane sometimes.