She was a hurricane of colors and sunshine
and I was just a puddle of grey and mud.

She has eyes like the bark of an old tree that aged through time
and… my eyes? My eyes were just brown.

She has a bright smile that makes your heart skip.
I have a broken grin and a heart that you skipped over.

She has a voice like she was the sound of a violin melody personified
and I have a voice like an amateur violinist’s broken recording.

I envy her. She stole your heart unknowingly, and she didn’t even bother to know its worth. If only she knew that I have been working blood, sweat and tears for it for months. If only she knew I was willing to pay so much more.

Your heart was hers inevitably, despite the fact that she’s going to store it in her trophy shelf, to become a room for insects and spiders.
And the room I built, painted, and decorated in my heart for your comfort? It will be filled from head to toe with dust.

I guess that’s life – our growth is spurred by sorrow, by pain. We learn with every bruise.
So if anything, I will try to stuff that room I built for you, with gratitude.
Maybe. Once I can step over the carcasses of my wild soul without breaking down into pieces.


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