When a broken heart is shown, it’s almost always in two halves
Then why does it feel like my heart has become sharp shards of glass?
My heart is in pieces that cannot be counted and I’m not faking
And my heart is far from broken, as it is still breaking
I know it’s like broken glass because I can see the big pieces and step carefully around
Yet, it’s the tiny shards I don’t see, scattered on the ground
The tiny shards that have a way of hiding, burrowing deep down
And I can feel the pain but I can’t find the source
It’s the smallest daily thought that cuts me, of course
I don’t think of him and of past times
But I see the vanilla ice cream and the tiniest shard commits its crime
I try hard to avoid the big pieces the thoughts of him
But yet I tread on multiple small ones and it begins again
I try to sweep up the pieces, but the one I always forget
Is the littlest shard, the one that I always regret
Maybe someday I’ll find all the pieces
Whether I tread on them or find them in the creases
I’ll pull each piece out, slowly and with care
And perhaps eventually, a full heart will be there