I can love you again,
my heart is open again.
The one problem is that you’re not around.
You’re not here to love.
You’re too far away to feel.

I look at the stars,
the same stars we watched together.
I count our time apart with dying stars.
As they fall across the dark sky
your face fades a little more in my mind.
Your laugh becomes a distant memory,
a memory, that one day, will be lost.

I dream of us meeting again,
a moment in time that I pray for.
Accidental or purposefully,
I will see you again.

I will love you again.
My heart is open again.
You will be around to love.
You will be close enough to feel.

She closed the door on the world.

Shutting out the cold wind, the pouring rain.

Closing her eyes
embracing the silence
warming her broken heart with emptiness

The silence fills the empty heart
clouded by unsaid words
bruised from being beaten,

The loneliness breaks the crying soul
cold from being untouched
dark from being hidden,




The shattering hope breaks the silence.

Is love supposed to be poetic?
Or is real love this painful,
burning sensation
in the pit of your stomach?

The heart is not involved.
It is left whole
beautiful.
No scars, no breaks.

But the butterflies,
their wings catch fire
like paper,
they fall
silently screaming, crying.

But the heart is never hurt.
Just the innocent butterflies
that make you smile
laugh
cry
fall in love

they die.