there is a place for broken things. in plastic bags or in forgotten shops on forgotten streets. under the bed, behind garden pots and on high, loose shelves. but where do i put my heart when it is broken? i condemn it to a dusty corner. a lonely island. maybe if it's far off the fear of it being broken wont hurt so much. i lock and bury it. for a heart, even when broken, is all i have
but there also is a place for whole things. where only lovers go. they go to see what awaits them. when i am whole again, there is where you will find me. there, words and nothings become the only way to survive. so, my love, keep whispering, my love. keep holding me, for if you leave, i will fall. i will starve for your words.