"where do broken hearts go?"
"anywhere... except forward"
It's funny
How love can make people become poets, artists and singers
How love can make people write words from the bottom of their hearts
See colors more than the naked eye can see
Or sing at the top of their lungs.
But as pretty as it gets,
Love is a dangerous thing
Because just as how it can make people become poets, artists, and singers
It can make people drunkards, insomniacs and broken
Funny it is
How love can make poets be drunkards who, in drunken stupor, lose all the words
How love can make artists be insomniacs, forgetting all the colors except black—pitch black
that accompanies them in the middle of the night as they lay awake
Or how love can make singers be broken who, in between sobs, can only speak in shattered and croaking voice
Funny how love can make people be the best
And worst version of themselves
How it can take people to unimaginable heights
And bottomless despair
And how it can make people move forward
And at the same time, never
Love can be everything, but sometimes
it is not the one that makes
—it is the one that breaks.
