For me, My hollow.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized everyone has a hollow,

Some a bit bigger than others,

For me, my hollow wasn’t a depressed surface or a groove,

It was sometimes the breath before a plunge into a new interest,

Or that thing that takes up your life,

Colors it or

Damages it,

Something like a hurricane where in it feels safe but around things are destroyed by the excess,

Wrapping itself like a barbed wire massage around your muscles and heart,

Echoing flaws into the emptiness of its depth,

That even before you fall and break into unrecognizable shards after it leaves,

It becomes a pathological rescuer that keeps the pieces,

Because after years spent about dreaming about love like in the movies,

They don’t teach you how to heal after it combusts,

They don’t tell you songs are what really depicts it,

But thank God I had you,

Thank you for teaching me,

In parts,

Unrequited,

Whole, crazy,

Stupid and mad,

Love expressed in some ways you gave me.