Behind The Velvet Veil

I've journeyed into the museum of you, Curious of the sights and stories by the display. Ignoring the do not touch sign, I leaned closer to the display case. Longing to get a better view of your heart. Stepping over the veil of velvet rope. The openness of events transpired behind closed glass. The ultimate truth of how delicate we really are. Selfless, it began to speak. It told me the pain suffered in the hands of another, so it sits behind unclean glass. Scuffed with finger prints and residue of spilled drinks. It told me in the honesty of a moment, How it dislikes the many visitors whom come only to view it's presence, then leave. The unapologetic flashes of cameras in momentary thrill. Brief lies that do untold damage. Before I could reveal myself in comfort, the security guard painstakingly grabbed me from behind ranting that the museum was closed, that I wasn't allowed access to go behind the veil