I used to think grief robbed me of all my words
I'm realizing that's wrong
grief doesn't rob me of my words, it gives me too many
And I delicatly sort through each word in the English language trying to find the right ones to express how i feel
most of the time i end up saying nothing at all
sometimes i write and my heartbreak comes through and i bleed red all down the page
I'm sorting through these words, trying to pick out the ones that will explain how this happened, or how I'm feeling, or why...
I was broken. And I tried to tie up my heart with string and bandages and stop the bleeding, stitching it back together with jagged stitches. My broken heart was forever stained by what happened...
And then he died. And I don't know how life can change in the blink of an eye.
And she's coming home, on a flight that will arrive tonight
And now we wait. We wait and hold vigil and pray and cry and try to use all the words in the English language to make sense of this. And, in our own way, we're all searching for that one secret that holds all the answers to mending a broken heart.