I prayed for her.
Please God, if this is the last thing I ever ask of you, give her the strength and hope to surge through.
Please do.
I wish I could take it instead of her.
I wish she didn't have to suffer alone.
But isn't it the things we mind that help us appreciate the things we love?
Still. I hate it when she hurts.

Poetry runs through our veins. Meant for cold hearted people, whose hearts are covered up with stains.
Until pure love is the only thing on this planet that rains.