"Real love hurts" they said.

They've seen me cry more times than I'd like to admit.

I watch the world move and it moves on
whether I participate or not.

The sun goes down behind my window and
I glimpse a sky alight with fire-
Across the world the land is burning;
Here at home I fret about the water bill.

My heart bursts from endless meditation:
on the things that it yearns for;
on the things it loves and the things it despises.
Most of all: itself, it seems.

Real love hurts, I'm reminded
of all the things I've been allowed to love;
All the times my heart ached so badly
I couldn't look away from it without fear
that it would fall apart completely.

Why is pain so often the most beautiful thing in you?

Another day is done and we pick back up in the morning,
collect the pieces that shook loose in the aftermath
of the upheavals of our hearts.
We'll put them back together again
in a way that almost makes sense
and move on and know, in good time,
that we're more beautiful now
for having been broken.