Again and again, yet it hasn't happened enough for me to observe the reason.
Why does my heart break, for whom does it break?
Because of love? For, to love at all is to be vulnerable.
For the love of who? Myself? You?
Was it simply misplaced hopes? A disillusion on my part.
A grief because I lost a thing I was never meant to expect?
Or maybe it's yours. Maybe you expect too much.
Maybe I'm not that brilliant after all. Maybe I'm not that superhuman.
Maybe you should've commemorated my lack of sleep or my illnesses.
Maybe you lost something you should never have expected from me.
Why is this my business? Why does the heart break?
Why is hurt so profoundly expressed in the chest and hope so blatantly obscured.
And why does one radically recover as though none has happened at all.
Do I embrace the restoration of my smile or shall i permit the scars.
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