Dear you,

When I picture my heaven, I picture it with you.

And, though I knew I loved you so, you were not someone I knew.

I admired the innocence in your eyes when you stared deeply into the stars,

Without a hint of hesitation, I find acceptance in everything you are.

I look at your soft hair blowing in the wind, and the mesmerizing moon rays that shine off your delicate skin.

I love your heart that radiates warmth and the depth of your soul, I have yet to comprehend.

Even though we haven't met, if I may be so bold, you are my treasure. You are gold.

I know that what we have is meant to be. So I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you.

*Sincerely,
               Me.

It only took a spark,

A glimpse of happiness,

To start a fire in her heart.

A fire that shines bright for her even in the dark.

A glimpse of happiness.

Buried deep within the soil of her soul.

And as time unfolds,

She'll remember how it only took a spark,

A glimpse of happiness,

to bring forth blossoms from her once sorrowful heart.

My body, composed of tiny grains of sand,

was swept away into your ocean,

and never found again.

I gave you the key to the garden where my secrets were safely kept,
And I showed you the flowers sown by my scars, my mistakes, and the corners where they were neatly swept.
But under the stars, you came in and trampled it all while I peacefully slept.
You had planned this all along, I'd consider it a successful attempt.

I awoke to the gate barely swinging on its hinges,
Horrified of what I would discover next, every muscle in my body cringes.
You've created a fire in me, destroying the trails, the fresh air, it singes.
The bright colors of my flowers, the flames, it tinges.

Realizing what you had done, my hopes began to sink.
All the lies you whispered to me, I wasn't sure what to think.
I should have seen this coming, the puzzle pieces began to link.
So I grabbed a piece of paper,
Using my heart as the ink.

I painted my mistakes as a precaution for the world to see,
Lines, details, colors brushed with my regrets, each stroke, showing them what they didn't want to be.
Seeing the finished picture, I knew I had found the purpose meant for me,

*To make a beautiful work of art, using the power of broken poetry.

It was easy counting all the days I've ever felt happiness.

All I had to do was count the days I spent with you.

Of course, I loved you.

*It's the only way I could have let you go.

As I stare into the flames, my thoughts consume me.

Memories of you, racing through me.

Some beautiful, some repulsive, but they are altogether too much for me to bear.

Why is this what I get in return for my care?

We'd rather have stone cold hearts.
That way, there are no broken parts.

There's no pain that comes with not feeling, in not being vulnerable.

In fact, they are the ones sought after,  no attachment needed, comfortable.

But that's not how we are meant to be, dependent, fragile, broken.

And to have someone treasure our hearts, with unconditional devotion.

What happens is, the true meaning of love gets lost in translation. We lose all hope.

Hope is what keeps us sane. Gives us purpose. Helps us focus. Without it, everything is just pointless.

Without it, we are unable to cope.

*To put it simply, we are just no match for love, when we have not hope.