I threw my heart away.
It's a bundle of shipwrecks.
Until he told me,
"That's not a way to fix it."
I pushed him away, too, just like my heart.
Only then, I had a glance of his hands.
It was a mess.
With wounded hands,
his grip was constant,
To the beating heart he had mended.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
I threw my heart away.
It's a bundle of shipwrecks.
Until he told me,
"That's not a way to fix it."
I pushed him away, too, just like my heart.
Only then, I had a glance of his hands.
It was a mess.
With wounded hands,
his grip was constant,
To the beating heart he had mended.
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