Her heart is made of fine china porcelain
The love she feels is pure white
Her wounds spread, indigo blue, across the surface.
Sometimes,
she stands absolutely still in the middle of her sphere
she can listen the world flowing outside her window
a river of noise and people
coming and going
She cannot stand the noise
nor the people
nor the souls...
Then comes the rain
penetrating every little corner of her dream,
slowly drowning it into a deep sea of thoughts
that they never seem right,
and they never seem wrong.
-What a mess, she whispers,
what a waste of life...
And then comes the funny part where she vows to start anew
to start living
to stop loving
to stop trusting
just to stop...
to stop...
to stop...
After the rain ends
she remembers
many years ago
how she have broken those vows
again
But the thing is,
that the Now is waving to her from behind the crimson curtains
wrapped in bandages made of the same mistakes
--the only thing you repeat is the mistakes,
you see.
She feels sorry for her Then,
that once was her Now.
Again, however,
is at the door
smiling and waving
out
So she gives up
and she follows
pretending
that she haven't heard
and she haven't noticed
that last faded crack
of her fine
china heart...
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