Pieces

To the one reading this. I treasure you.

Broken crayons still colour. The greatest of idioms used at all times to mean that all is not lost. And so we do believe all the time that there’s always some ray of hope. But wishing for a fully functional crayon isn’t a bad thing either. Who wants to paint with a broken brush? Who wants to colour with a broken crayon?

To the souls that keep whispering to each other, one more day, one day at a time, eventually do get their shine. They keep holding on, holding on to the end of the Crayon hoping it would colour more, it would colour just one more time. Hope. Is what keeps them going and believing that it’s all not lost even when they paint their last stroke.

To the hearts that keep beating, in singular rhythm waiting and wanting, your day is coming too. Broken , alive but not dead. Hope is your new name, holding on before letting go, is what these hearts will keep pumping to until one or both of them give in.

The smiles , the talks, the notes, the letters all made sense at one point, hoping they still do even in reminisce. The true remembrance of love,dreams, that once existed.

Passion, desire and embrace, are all a dreamers fortune. Wishful thinking that maybe it’s not entirely lost, maybe a passing cloud, maybe , just maybe its not too late. The dreamers chasing to fight that feeling of love, lust , with every premonition. You.

Pieces

#sensesnhumor