You never failed to make me see
how creative I could become when I was hurt,
how the words would twirl around and make themselves a nest,
and that was when I probably realized;
life, may or may not be about loving
and even without loving in my soul, I could keep walking.
You proved to be more than amazing
when you stuck your hand inside the mud and yanked me out,
when your tears washed it away and I learnt about
how life, may or may not be about success
and even without success in my mind, I could conquer less.
You always made me cry.
Why, is something I always wondered about.
Why, is something I was too late to find out.
And that was when I probably realized;
life, may or may not be about living
and with your battered soul in my hands, I found leaving better than breathing.