If my heart were glass, it could never be whole again. Even if joined, the cracks would always remain. But my heart is a tree— when broken, it still grows, hiding scars in green leaves, showing strength no wound can erase.
If my heart were glass, it could never be whole again. Even if joined, the cracks would always remain. But my heart is a tree— when broken, it still grows, hiding scars in green leaves, showing strength no wound can erase.