Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

I wouldn’t.

I would wait for the day that the sun shines its iridescence
into the shadows of your face
And beckons you in with all its glory

I would wait for the day where the raindrops
are the rivers that stain your face
And that pain is a long forgotten handshake
of a former acquaintance

I would wait for the day when the last goodbyes
are the ones that are scheduled
And that the first hellos
come with their own warranties

And I would dream that you do not once more
rest your head in a blanket of sorrows
or stand in a crowd with no name
or miss another turning
or feel another scorch of heart break.

But I simply could not. Nor would I.
For the very blood in my veins knows

That pain is empathy and strength and compassion
and travesty is a breaker of the body but a healer of the soul
it will shake you, and mould you to the point that
even your insides are made of more
than Demeter’s simple building blocks

Anguish unites but brokenness divides
Because no ounce of happiness will ever
undermine the prevail or content
of the injured whose wounds will not be licked.

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