I think of a whole heart,
and I wonder,
will that ever be?
Pieces,
it seems,
are fate.
I think of death,
an occasion,
that tries to uncover the truth,
and wonder,
why they weep.
The tears that fall,
splatter apart,
and stay away,
much like the vessel shatters,
can never be the same.
My partial heart,
is heavier than theirs.
They will move on,
I will be stuck,
understanding what they never could.