Saturday, 31 March 2012
02:01:19 PM (GMT)
Never holding out hope.
Never believing in the power it holds.
Afraid of injury.
We can only pick up broken pieces so many times
Before we start to loose parts of ourselves.
But the real power it gives
Is not the ability to be seperate.
Is not being capable of apathy.
Because, while these are valuable,
Real power is soldiering on.
Soldiering on when we think we're broken.
Until we find another soldier.
One of our own.
Who is broken also
And we rebuild eachother.
The gaps filled by memories forged together.
Shattered pieces of a ruby heart.
Repaired by diamonds.