Those carved out from the pain the grief the cruelties of this world have left you
with a space in the middle of your soul without pieces of yourself
Let me hide in those shallowness Can you hear the wind is playing I promise to be careful with the sharp edges
Let me hide in the cliffs of your sadness just above the sea of your tears
Where the flowers smiles don’t grow maybe I can plant them there
I read some time ago about a time traveler, and how he was incapable of loving his (now) partner because they were too soft, too new. He used to hide in the holes left there by the war. Maybe we can't always love them, maybe we need to hurt and be hurt to learn to love them. Maybe before the holes, we couldn't fit, not really.