My heart keeps breaking. It hurts a lot. And it permeates, why does it spread. Wish it would stay put, and not splay like an annoying child at that ridiculous age where it makes you begin to question why the hell you had wanted one in the first place.
They romanticize the hell of motherhood, I wonder if its on the cards for me. I regret romanticizing my life up until now. And so it breaks.
And so it breaks, all those moments trapped inside my kaleidoscope bowl shaped heart — I drop them and so they scatter.
And so I surrender
to your ways.
