My hands became calloused as I held tight to the idea that things would get better and white knuckles turned to arthritis almost overnight it seemed. I was never patient enough to wait for things to come in time and that saying never meant much anyway. So by the time I was ready to end it all the better part of life was waiting in the shadows almost like spring does in the ending suns of winter. My hands became calloused as I held on to the idea that things would once again become bad, and that the better part of life would be stolen from me like all the loves of the past. I became to busy being scared of losing it all to enjoy the warmth around me. Then soon like I had feared I was alone again and the spring was something I endured just to get to the summer where love sometimes blooms which is odd about life... My hand became calloused as I clutched the phone waiting for some sort of something to let me know this wasn't all life had for me