dear me,
your heart is wide,
your hands open,
and you keep hoping
the world will meet you there.
but people are fragments,
their love uneven,
their care sometimes fleeting.
expecting constancy
from shifting shadows
only bruises your tender soul.
release the weight of wanting
them to be more than they are,
and you will find peace
in the space between hope and reality.
i write for those who give freely
but learn to guard their hearts
without closing them
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