My heart is passionate, fragile, and wounded by the confessions that never had a reply.
I strain myself to be perfect but I'm still human aren't I?
How can my heart be sensitive to such trivial matters?
Such as not saying Merry Christmas like before.
Or maybe not greeting everyone with open arms is enough for them.
I've always looked after them awaiting any kind of danger that lurks beneath the shadows of death.
I call the Moon my guide, my savior, my light in the dark.
I could swear that my heart is only half the way it used to be, and now I'm wondering, praying that my love will be alright and come back to me...
I swear to never give up
I swear to be determined and forgiven for my immature behaviour from the past actions to everyone I seem to cause harm on.
Mentally and physically...