How Can the Broken Be Restored

Once, you were in bloom— a field untouched, breathing joy without permission, alive in a way that needed no applause. You moved like the wind— free, careless, untamed. Voices meant nothing, and doubt had no home in you. Nothing felt strong enough to bring you down. But when they spoke, you heard resistance, not warning— and even truth sounded like an enemy of your happiness. So you kept going, past the signs, past the quiet cracks forming beneath your own chest. You called it love. You poured into it— like rain on soil you believed was alive, like hope into hands that never planned to hold you. And slowly… without noise, without mercy— you broke. Now look at you— a sky full of storms, a land stripped of color. What was once soft has turned to stone. What once bloomed now aches to remember how. Your heart— once a garden of roses— lies scattered, petals bruised, roots torn from the very ground that once gave them life. A place of beauty now trembles like a volcano, holding pain it can no longer hide. Oh beautiful land, how did love become your ruin? How did something so gentle leave you this undone? And still, beneath the wreckage, one question refuses to die— If a heart can shatter