I am a broken record.
I repeat the same sayings,
Cry about the same issues,
and I love him.
I am a broken music box.
Singing an age old tune.
Dusty wheels,
rusty crank.
Sit back and wait for a performance,
only to be disappointed at how I am unable to sing anymore.
I was winded up too tightly,
I was unintentionally broken by my beholder.
I was mistakenly misplaced.
I was sadly unheard.
To go from a beautiful song
To a broken tune is utterly heartbreaking.
To be unable to define yourself without the one you call soulmate,
Is like carrying a vase
Only to shatter it to pieces.
And no matter how hard you try to put it back together,
There are always going to be slivers of shards missing among the cracks in the wood.
And this is the troubling thing.
I know deep down in my heart I belong to him.
But he is not mine.
He is not mine to think of,
To imagine,
To dream,
Touch,
Hold,
Feel,
Love.
He is not mine to love.
And one day I will sing again.
May it be a hymn,
Or a lullaby.
But it will be the tune I sing,
For when I know it’s time to say goodbye.