From here on, I need to pick up my pieces. The very soul that has been shattered to smithereens.
Somehow, there is this lingering sense of betrayal
I need to wake up from all my delusions.
Picking up the pieces will cut me. I need to pull out the thorns, one by one. They will leave scars. But they will also dry and leave scabs. Gosh, this hurts so much. Like a lance, right through the heart.
For now, let me grieve. Let me mourn. Let me cry. Just. Let me be...