Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

You might say love doesn't exist, but there are different things we love. Some love food, some pets or things. Many people have broken hearts, in the wind it blows loudly like a whistling in a big silent room. everyone learns to walk when they are babies, but the first thing that comes is love. Love from the parents, and family. We are given the tools to love right when we are born, those tools shape us to find our friends, our lovers, our things, and people. We try to connect the lines and paint a picture. Sometimes we give too much love, and our tools become run out, dry, and rusted. Why do we hide our broken hearts, our mind telling is we aren't worth painting the beautiful picture we have. Our backgrounds plain and cold with loveless days. We always pick ourself's back up and try again till we find someone to finally finish the picture with us. Then we know all the suffering the mistakes, the redoing our picture wasn't in vain, but for finishing, its a race in a sense. Those who rush into get stuck in a maze, forever wandering not knowing where the finish line is. But those who run in a steady pace find the finish line in due time and are treated with a smile and a medal.