I used to drink a glass half empty of hope
At least once a day, just for a taste of love.
And I used to get thirsty over it
'Cause it never seemed enough
So I tried pouring more of it into the glass
Until I noticed thin little cracks.
They cut my hand and my lip
Still, I wanted to drink.
But, the deeper the wounds,
the more I felt consumed
Then my glass half empty broke into little pieces.
All the little pieces, one by one, I collected
A reminder of how it feels like being at peace.
MY SIDE OF THE STORY
Od michcidicco
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