You. Yes, you. This is for you. The collective you. And all of only you. The owner of the broken heart, mending beneath your ribcage. Your soul is laid bare on your sleeve. This is for you. Written by one soul for another in particular. Surprisingly, the mind behind this is hopeful.
Hopeful that he will not hinder the healing. That he will allow the people closest to assist in the healing. And that he will keep head held high, knowing that there is always a shoulder waiting to be cried on, a hand waiting to lead you into the light, a heart waiting to be lended.
You have been a large part of the greates days, nights, and moments of my life. So to say that you are not worthy, not deserving of love or happiness, is the furthest from the truth. I must tell you that I have never told you something or did something because I was obligated to do so.
You have so much passion in your eyes, head and heart. You are filled with creativity and love. And we all can see and appreciate that. We don't need to feed you lies when the truth is so easily accessible.
A heart is a fragile thing. If not handled with care, it can be easily shattered. I know your heart has been dropped more than once, and you have reluctant to pick up the peices. But, although it has been battered and broken, remember always that I am here, readily with glue, to peice it back together. And with the energy of time and patience on both of our parts it will be stronger than it was before.
So this is for you. Yes you. The collective you. And all of only you. This is for you. Written by one soul for another in particular. And, not so surprisingly, the mind behind this is hopeful.
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