Every time I put myself out there at the same battle where a win will give me - a hug, which I can be assured of having to myself all my life; a heart, which I can try to win everyday day all over again as it will stay; a hand on my head caressing me, forgiving me all my mistakes; eyes which will look forward to look at me.
Every time I come back bruised, bleeding with a little more tattered heart that I stitch back with optimism and dreams.
I wonder, should I continue till I am left with so small pieces that can't be sewn back together or should I withdraw from the battle ground and be content.
My heart is tired, so are my eyes. My brain is ashamed of continuing to guide my tongue to keep thinking and dish out interesting conversations, with the changing palettes.
Aren't the others tired enough to confess, give up or give in.
Every time I come back bruised, bleeding with a little more tattered heart that I stitch back with optimism and dreams.
I wonder, should I continue till I am left with so small pieces that can't be sewn back together or should I withdraw from the battle ground and be content.
My heart is tired, so are my eyes. My brain is ashamed of continuing to guide my tongue to keep thinking and dish out interesting conversations, with the changing palettes.
Aren't the others tired enough to confess, give up or give in.
