You try to reassemble the fragments of the trust you once had.
You collect the pieces without contaminating them with your anger, bitterness, callousness and discombobulation.

You console yourself with memories that aren't tainted with the hurt.
You try...

But you get weary and distant.

And you don't put much effort in the trust you're trying to rebuild.
Because why should you clean up a mess made by someone you love?

our lips will never meet
nor our fingers intertwine
and so bless my dreams
for indulging what's not mine

You're running away from heartbreak but there are things that need to be broken for you to grow.

You're going to give me butterflies
and I'm going to be mad
when you don't take them with you
when you leave.

As well watered soil
Is to growing plants
A broken heart
Is the perfect condition
For the best
Of my poetry.

You made me smile
And you made me laugh.
You gave me butterflies
Because for me, you were enough.

But I failed, dismally,
To return the things that you gave to me.

He created,
A mind that follows solutions,
An ego so fragile but insists on appearing stable.
A spirit that does not give up easily, and takes risks.
Hands, large, that easily blocks the sun.
Shoulders sculpted, and boldly defined.
Muscles protruding, trying to escape from the skin.
Edges sharp, from the ridges of the brow to the jaws.
And a smile that ignites festival fireworks in a girl's belly.


Everything screaming, "I HAVE TO BE STRONG!"