The history of my heart concludes with hope and longing for the future.
It doesn't really conclude because it still beats here in my chest.
Though it flutters from time to time, it shudders from the memories and the damages and ravages of time.
Still here it beats, inside a great black hole in my chest and the hollow thudding echoes in my bones and my steps.
This heart is weary but not worn out. Resting but not yet done. Perhaps it can find the strength to love another again? Not now, not soon, but maybe.
For now this heart is learning, to love me. Learning to uncover the truth in a memory and the harsh cold reality without breaking. I feed it with self loathing, and memories, and dreams purged from my guts and re-digested truths.
It trembles and quivers with pain and exhaustion. Yet still it beats.
Each new day the tide changes, the burden is lighter. I do not mean to forget the lost ones, who still are trailing my progress.
I will never let them fall further then I can see them, but they are too far to catch me soon.
The history of my heart cannot ever fully conclude alone.
It can end,
Yes; it can stop beating, though it doesn't., even as hard as I have tried to make it stop.
I've pounded at it and even tried to cut it out with a knife.
There it still beats inside that iron box, that great black hole.
My quivering damaged heart begins to glow with hope ever still.
It doesn't really conclude because it still beats here in my chest.
Though it flutters from time to time, it shudders from the memories and the damages and ravages of time.
Still here it beats, inside a great black hole in my chest and the hollow thudding echoes in my bones and my steps.
This heart is weary but not worn out. Resting but not yet done. Perhaps it can find the strength to love another again? Not now, not soon, but maybe.
For now this heart is learning, to love me. Learning to uncover the truth in a memory and the harsh cold reality without breaking. I feed it with self loathing, and memories, and dreams purged from my guts and re-digested truths.
It trembles and quivers with pain and exhaustion. Yet still it beats.
Each new day the tide changes, the burden is lighter. I do not mean to forget the lost ones, who still are trailing my progress.
I will never let them fall further then I can see them, but they are too far to catch me soon.
The history of my heart cannot ever fully conclude alone.
It can end,
Yes; it can stop beating, though it doesn't., even as hard as I have tried to make it stop.
I've pounded at it and even tried to cut it out with a knife.
There it still beats inside that iron box, that great black hole.
My quivering damaged heart begins to glow with hope ever still.
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