with what's left

It still hurts, honestly. I suppose, when you give your heart to someone without getting anything in return, you can't expect for it return back whole. A piece, or a chunk, remains with that person.. and maybe, that's why you can't stop loving, hoping, wishing.

I'm still looking forward to the day, when my heart will find the one its meant to be with. I believe then it'll regrow, and the pain will fade.

Yet, now, all I've got is a weary, tattered heart. It's cold, sometimes, and the beat is weak. I don't want to give up, though. Maybe I could still love, with what's left?

I don't want to discriminate anymore. Whomever is in front of me, I will not be careless. Even so, how much could I do? I forget myself. I forget everyone. It is a small comfort for the long road, but it is also a curse.