Love is a bottle
reflecting the memories,
those you wish could last
a lifetime but don't.
Gone in a change of direction,
drained out or refilled.
Fragile to others touch, of what you thought to
be nothing but gentleness,
but in the middle there is
a rush of wind, that goes
through the cracks, your soul,
leaving nothing but broken pieces.
The broken pieces then recollect forming a wall,
protection, or what many
know broken faith, a weapon.
And of what you thought to be the end is nothing, but
the beginning. With the
broken pieces come second
chances, coming in the form
of other bottles, perhaps
           one
that will change your soul,
pigment the glue within the cracks,
a glimpse of the sun reflectiveness,
because in the end,
we are all broken pieces.