a book titled, 'I did not break you'. To, the one with a broken heart I should be called a stone statue, right? One impermeable to the pangs of destroyed love. But, I am just another skin mortal made of water. Strong and solid are two different attributes, none of which I hold. It is just the viscosity of life that keeps me from falling. I stick to the walls. I'm dragged to the edge. Yet, I keep myself from being poured into the always hungry solvent of this world –it holds as much pain as you offer it. This pain, seemingly dissolved, is disguised from the eye. Your eye. I see you carve poems in the short lived sand and losing hope as they ebb away but melancholy ain't a game you need to be good at. If you've descended down the stairs of reality-baked bricks, then you should know that the pebbles which fall before the empire crumbling down ain't only for a warning. They are to challenge you with the task of building something out of it, a hut nonetheless, to provide for you – a home, to arise and abide by. And that is how, I'll now write a book titled 'I did not break you' because if I did, then you give me the credit to make you, you. But I didn't. You were as much whole before me as much as you are now and your heart, it was beautiful from the very beginning, but now it knows how to not fill the cracks and yet find beauty in the strength it now houses.
