"Handle it with care"
That, I would always say.
To you, I give my heart so fragile;
A risk that I would never dare
To let another hold
Such a thing so rare,
Which you always seem to break
With your trembling hands.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident"
That, you would always say.
So I always have ****** palms,
And marred fingers,
From always picking up
The sharp fragments
Of my once called heart,
That you so fearfully handle.

Mind that I don't blame you
And your frail hands.
I pick up every blood-stained piece,
With a warm smile.
Every tear and sweat
That ran from my face,
Would wash away the stains,
Restoring its brilliance.

Now I realize that rarity
Does not come in fragile form.
It comes in the form of beauty
That endures. Once healed,
The pieces brought together
Illuminate into a colorful mosaic,
Dedicated to you.

Let its splendor captivate you.
A masterpiece that will drive
All the fears and worries away,
As it makes the trembling end.
For they are not just fragments,
But mementos that will last;
Images that will forever gleam,
**Of you and me.