The glass is not empty,
Nor is it full,
Nor is it half one way or the other.
But what is this feeling?
And where is the source of what strength she has left?
She has no inhibitions
And feels liberated for the first time in months,
Yet turmoil chains her down.
Vanished, but unbroken.
Ignoring, but noticing.
Crumbled, but fully put together.
She gave you her heart.
So, be careful,
For, though it is strong,
It is also fragile.
Her glass is not empty,
Nor is it full.
It is leaking,
And she spends all her time filling it,
But the crack isn’t mending,
Isn’t patching,
Isn’t healing.
So all she can do now is fill the glass,
Stop pretending,
Stop lying with her smile,
And watch it empty at the end of the day,
Allowing her to fill it yet again when dawn awakens.