It felt like something had been stolen
broken, into a million pieces.
You smile; look happy,
and don’t see me bleeding.
It’s been 8,000 sunsets,
since I last touched your hand,
when the pieces of me scattered
in the wind like leaves.
I hadn’t meant to see you there,
smiling, so happy, her hand in yours.
Hot tears won’t come.
Pasted smile holds firm.
You don’t see me… you never really did.
Magically, my broken heart keeps beating.
April 5, 2010