I asked myself only when he needed my help, "How will the broken heal the wounded?

What broke your heart so badThat you had to close every door, That you say you have a dark soulAnd can't utter the word 'love' anymore?

Someday I will pick up shells of every colourAnd probably even rob the sea of its wonderYet I won't find a single pieceThat'd resemble the broken pieces I gathered years agoThinking those grains of sand were whole

She awaits the rain like a writer embraces metaphors,A drizzle isn't for the child who dances in the storm.Of rain that washes away the petrichor it brings,A downpour of a hail of bullets, and she calls it spring.

You're back where you swore yourself you wouldn't beThe familiar shackles you can't tell from your own skinYour head's under water when you learned to swimOn a road to hell, congratulations, you're free...

And truths, these days, are spokenThe same way promises are made,With gritted teeth and crossed fingers.

My world is a million shattered pieces put together, glued by my tears, where each piece is nothing but a reflection of YOU.

Sometimes it's your fragrance that comes to me, out of the blue, on a crowded road in a Sunday afternoon.But more often, it's memories of us that cross my mind almost every lone evening.All I want is to lessen the pain I feel every night.But every morning I wake up is another day, hopeless and miserable, with nothing but a deafening silence, a wave of tears, memories and your absence.