I'll wash you away from my hands.
Scrub you off like a disease
just to replant the seed
you planted so kindly in me.

Bloodied, battered and bruised
I'll fall in love with you again,
because I am not broken,
I can easily bend.
And bend to you I will;
over and over, again and again.

And it's a loop of loss,
a loop of ever needing.
So I'll pick myself up
and let you leave me pleading,
crying and kicking and screaming.
I am not broken, I can easily bend.

And I'm not one to ever say goodbye,
compared to the countless hellos
I've given to you in the night.
We wear our mistakes on forearms;
reminders of why
we are not broken, we can easily bend.