Its been a while,
since i finally accepted
the end.
But my heart still aches,
everytime i think
of how we ended.

And if i could go back,
I wish i could tell you:
I stayed for so long not ,
not because i was weak.
But because i believed
in the good person in you.

I left, not because you
stopped wanting me,
but because i no longer
loved myself by loving you.

Sometimes
when I descend into
this world of black and white
filled with words bursting of colors,

I see things,
a different light, maybe a different darkness,
a vision of the world, evolving
re-shaping a soft and muddled mess,
like given a chance to
blur out sharp, unyielding thorns
and re-focus on a soft rose,

I hear things,
wind chimes swaying softly
in the warm, night breeze
the sound of pure bliss
in someone's laughter,
a kindness found in
all expressions throughout,

yet there are still
the beautiful soft words, of
a young soul, drawing inspiration
from heartache
and a very quiet pain,

I feel things,
a softness in the corner
of my mind,
a sort of reminder
to express a stroke a color
on the blank canvas of all hearts,
to let my sadness, and overwhelming
despair retreat,

to find a hand,
to hold dearly
to gently wrap my hand
around a heart,

for it is true,
it is.

love,
is an answer.

Just a cut,
Just a scratch.
It wouldn't hurt,
It wouldn't last;

It would fade,
Fade into blue;
The colour of sadness,
The colour of you.

If ever you find yourself doubting your existence,
remember that there's a reason you are alive.

Lavenders are not always in bloom,
but when they are
they become beautifully alive.
And everyone is in awe of its splendor.
Not even a king's robe can compare.

Sometimes pruning is necessary for growth.
Sometimes healing comes through rain.
Sometimes a year of drought makes you realize
how much you wanted to be alive,
and you start praying for rain.

You're almost there.
Like a lavender,
exude a strong scent
reminding everyone your time to bloom has come.

A broken window will want repair
And a broken arm must be treated with care
But what happens to a broken heart?

Do the shards come together and try to mend?
Do they search helplessly for what could have been?
Can anyone tell me how things will end,
For my broken heart?

Do the pieces separate, and freely roam?
Do they long for love, or wish to be alone?
Does anyone know how to make a home,
For my broken heart?

Will my eyes no longer twinkle and my mouth no longer smile?
Will I forget how to love, or be tender and mild?
Does anyone know what life will be while,
I have this broken heart?

Will its love flow out to the empty places in me?
Will my whole body know what it is to be warm and sweet?
Does anyone know the language or beat,
Of my broken heart?

Will all its pieces move as one?
Will they dream of what could be, what is, and what was?
Can anyone find a greater love,
Than that of a broken heart?

While some do not realize that a whole is but two halves
And with a broken heart, they forget how to laugh
So that is why I am proud to love and still have
My beautiful broken heart