The End

You never failed to make me see

how creative I could become when I was hurt,

how the words would twirl around and make themselves a nest.

That was when I probably realised;

life, may or may not be about loving

and even without loving in my soul, I could keep walking.

You proved to be more than amazing

when you stuck your hand inside the mud and yanked me out,

when your tears washed it away and I learnt about

how life, may or may not be about success

and even without success in my mind, I could conquer less.

You always made me cry.

Why, is something I always wondered about;

why, is something I was too late to find out.

That was when I probably realised;

life, may or may not be about living

and with your battered soul in my hands, I found leaving better than breathing.