​When you have loved and have lost. All you have is the pain that you caress day in day out. Some days maybe more than most, you just wallow in despair. 

All you teach yourself is to hate. Hate yourself for ever being caught so off guard. Hate the day you met that one person that tore your heart into pieces. 

Later on in life, you learn that the ones who are harsh about love are those that have loved so many times  and all they got is wounds and bruises. That they lick when no one is watching. They haven’t recovered from all the havoc the heartache left them vulnerable to. 

The pain becomes surreal. Painted in their heart’s canvas as splashing water colors. Decorated by oil paints on the finesse hands of their suitor that left them a mess.

You know you are broken, yet you don’t want to be fixed. Cause that will mean your pain won’t be real anymore. It takes away the meaning of your pain, that so often have been accustomed to as your soul’s  fabric. Taking it away, will mean, you’re soulless. 

Therefore, you guard it, like a mother her child. You want to feed it, bathe it, clothe it. See it take its first step. Listen to it when it utters it’s first word. It calls you love. You call it gorgeous. 

Now, the pain is a part of you as well. Your other half. So, you promise yourself, no one shall ever come between you and it. Your whole again. With your fortress of a heart, you protect it within. 

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