I remember the night I cried about the last one. I remember listening to that new song.
I hear it again, and come to know it's been one year. 365 days. Since that song streamed into my ears for the first time. I look at where I was then. I remember how I felt. However, he was empathetic. He cared. Here I am. A year later, him and I don't speak. Yet I find myself crying over another. In a different room with the same darkness, the same loneliness. The only difference was I hadn't met a cold hearted killer like this one. I gave all my pretty flowers, from the pretty garden I'd grown all on my own, to that one. He let them die. Wither. He didn't care, he was busy sealing his sins with a pair of lips that were not mine. From a year I look back, my love has not changed. It is everlasting. It moves within different hearts, and it fills my veins. These people have not changed my love, only me. Which is the only time my love changes and conforms, as I change. As I change, my love, loves me. I will spread my love further than my feet will ever travel. I will make people feel the warmth and light I have within. Yes, I am broken. But that will not change the way I let my love change people. I am not the person you forget. I will love you hardly and deeply. You will remember what my love felt like, and you will begin to understand why the left side of your bed is so cold. Do not take advantage of the warmth my love provides. It comes easy, and while it may leave slowly. You will notice when it is gone, because my love will no longer wrap around you as it once did. You will miss it, you will beg for it to come back. But even I don't know the amount of beats it would take to pump that love back into the memory of you.
