This heart is bruised and battered
It’s been contorted and squeezed into so many shapes that it’s forgotten it’s form
It doesn’t know what it is, it doesn’t know what it wants
But there is beauty in that isn’t there?
Maybe the heart is elastic
Maybe it is relaxing slowly into its form rather than searching for a mold
Maybe it needs patience
Maybe it needs love
For now I leave it be
I hold it in its agony, give it my love and wait