Ever stop to think: I love too much,
Too much of my heart is out there
Each person another piece
And I'm burning myself down--
Burning my heart out in order for each of them
To have some peace?
It's like an eternal flame,
Love. And it isn't just the kind in romance novels--
Crossed-stars. You don't need those kind of things
To give birth to broken hearts.
No, all you have to do is spread yourself thin
Throw your whole-self into the world that you've created.
Friends, the extended family that you'd die for without a
blood connection.
It's funny in a way, at least for me.
I don't ask for much, I'm like a giving-tree.
I flower and bloom, spread my branches across
To touch the souls of each person I hold dear and would
And will, stand through every storm with--for;
I'm that person who every one uses as their pillar
And offer to do the same, but never give in...
Well, hardly--rarely, give in,
Because my soul aches each time that I throw myself on a
line,
And something happens which I can't control.
You can't control the ones you love
Nor the things that happen to them, to you.
It's hard. Loving others and yet even though they say that
they love you,
There is, matter of fact, a sea of souls who love you,
But in the end you don't believe that any of them would do
if the chance were given
A fraction of what you would or have done.
Jaded.
Can trust them with your life,
Trust them to try to hold to their words,
Trust them to fight for you or by your side--
But...can't trust them with your heart.
Can't trust that they won't walk out.
Because even with all this love, you--no, me--
Am scared because those are the ones you'd bare it all
Open yourself up and let them see the weaknesses and the
strengths,
But you mostly try to only show the good and not let on
That loving them hurts. And you can't change that.
You would rather be strong or make them laugh
Than show that you want more, need more
Are worried that you give more than they
And take less...no, I don't mean just materially.
Material, that's the least of what you think about,
It's not an emotion. It's what's left when you take all that
away--
Who you are.
Do they love you enough to stay, when everything
Every fraction of you is stripped down to the raw.
I'm rambling on, I suppose you could say--
But that's what I do when my feelings are involved
And I feel so spread, that if a bird were to fly into the
window of my soul--
It'd crack.
