A broken window will want repair
And a broken arm must be treated with care
But what happens to a broken heart?

Do the shards come together and try to mend?
Do they search helplessly for what could have been?
Can anyone tell me how things will end,
For my broken heart?

Do the pieces separate, and freely roam?
Do they long for love, or wish to be alone?
Does anyone know how to make a home,
For my broken heart?

Will my eyes no longer twinkle and my mouth no longer smile?
Will I forget how to love, or be tender and mild?
Does anyone know what life will be while,
I have this broken heart?

Will its love flow out to the empty places in me?
Will my whole body know what it is to be warm and sweet?
Does anyone know the language or beat,
Of my broken heart?

Will all its pieces move as one?
Will they dream of what could be, what is, and what was?
Can anyone find a greater love,
Than that of a broken heart?

While some do not realize that a whole is but two halves
And with a broken heart, they forget how to laugh
So that is why I am proud to love and still have
My beautiful broken heart

If I had to describe
Love as a season
I would like to think
For myself that is
That it would be represented
By winter.
Now I'm not just saying it
For the sake of it
I actually have given this
Much, much thought.
Ok so winters opposite
Would be summer
Alot of people would think
That love is summer
And maybe it is.
Hot nights, midnight adventures
Damp hair and Sandy clothes
Summer bodies and bikini's
And every other summer cliché
You could possibly
Think of.
I just sort of identify summer
As one night stands
Or new
Fresh relationships.
Because it's just a time
When you're absolutely
Carefree.
Or atleast I think it is.
Whereas winter
Is weirdly
More personal.
It's when you're wearing alot of layers
And your hair is always a mess.
Pink tinted cheeks
And hot drinks.
I feel like this is a time
Of the year
When I'm more vulnerable.
For some very odd reason.
It's a time when
You really know
Who the important people are.
It's when you know you'll jump in puddles with them
And freeze your *** of to keep them warm
Or when you have conversations
About stuff that really means something.
It's rain.
And the scent straight after it
Petrichor.
I either feel cozy and warm
Or drenched and miserable
But wanting to be with someone
No matter which way you're feeling
I think that's love.

She came to him one day and said
That She wished to fly
He met her gaze and shook his head
And begged her not to try

Her lips twisted and brows knit
As She failed to understand
Just why He wanted her to quit
And be content on land

An oath, She made, to herself to see
The stars She would explore
Although He said no just let it be
And wished to hear no more

She asked him why She shouldn't go
And why He so loved the ground
For She dreamed of soaring to and fro
And living amongst the clouds

He looked at her, sighed and said
That this journey would only lead
To disappointment in the end
As She would surely not succeed

Encouraged by his stinging words
She set out to do even more
She promised to be just like the birds
To not just fly, but to soar

So for a time, through night and day
She tried again and again
Until the morn She found her way
And rode, gracefully, the wind

She glided, majestically, here and there
And also far and near
And so She told him so, with love and care
That He had nothing to fear

Yet, on the ground He wished stay
And still refused to go
So the two went their separate ways
She flying high, and He perched below

Through his eyes, his sorrows fled
His heart a heavy stone
Because He had known how this would end
With her free, leaving him alone

And He remembered the day She said
That She had wished to fly
For it was not She he doubted, but himself instead
As He had never dared to try

Beautiful blue sky
Floating endlessly in love
Making the clouds sigh

I can say the right things
yet in the wrong time,
while I say the wrong things
in the right time.