When the feelings die
And the cracks turn into cliffs
I'll fall down and break apart
Into the smallest pieces

I'll let myself scatter with the wind
Till the pain fades
And I hear my pulse in my head
Then I'll piece myself together again

No piece will be the same and it might sit in a different place
Little lines will streak my body
Scars of all my grief

I'll become a beautiful mosaic
Each piece an art
Every line a memory
And when my days are done
I'll look and smile at what I have become.