EVERY TIME WE TURN AWAY IT HITS ME LIKE A TIDAL WAVE/
If anything should make a point, it would be that battered toy left on the shelf - unwanted. Change, insomuch that you wish it didn't in the first place. What was lost? Would she rather or would you rather? It takes one with a heart to love. (Yet, if it doesn't hurt, is it love? Questions, why don't you satisfy?) Is there not beauty in brokenness, perfection in imperfection?
Yes, we take our empty hearts and fill them up with broken things. We hang on things that we let slip through our fingers. We cling to that which stings. We advance and we retreat and we make moves again. We make it work for us. We get beaten down and we stand and we fall and we do it all over, again.
Strange ways, the way it's used. How true an index was that? I think I thought you thought, but it might have been thought merely thought I'd like to think. Do you read?
Either way: second to none.