I took my pen and laid all my emotions on paper, half hoping someone would come to read and understand the words that I fail to speak from my lips. Will I ever be worth saving? I open up my heart only to find it still bleeding from the previous wounds, I recounted the memories from my happiest time and find myself afraid to be happy again.
My heart has been dark since, it was
dark and devasting, but the words were so expressive that pain became an
inspiration. I forgot how it feels to be
in love. I refused to feel that I deserve to be loved, to be seen for who I
am behind my words. But then you came – standing at the front of the door
holding your own pen, you saw the beauty in the crack that I’ve tried so hard
to hide.
You managed to find the flicker of
light in the deepest corner of my heart. You appreciated the cracks, and you
stayed no matter how I push you away. When undesirable things creeped in, you
held me tighter. You never understood but you always wanted to be apart of it,
apart of the story. You wanted to find the keys to my padlock heart, not to
saved me but just to ensure that I knew he’s there all along.
You make me feel like poetry, a
special piece that is molded with all things dark and bright, worthy to be understood, appreciated and love.