A heart splintered into pieces is a tragedy that comes to be a beauty only in the form of writing.
Every bitter drop of tear is transformed into sweet sorrow, with the unhappiest of words becoming a dejected soul’s refuge.
Each bit of hatred growing inside a scorned heart becomes a plea for affection, a call for hope rather than an uproar of gloom that reverberates within a crestfallen core.
Every deep seated misery finds escape in the form of expression, as every fatal thought is condensed into strong yet harmless words.
Every sob story becomes a universal phenomenon, for a tale of a broken heart once transformed into words becomes another else’s story.
Every pain becomes a work of art, a beautiful piece that veils the agony of a bleeding heart. And for a fleeting moment, one’s heartbreak becomes a fiction, a product of imagination rather than one’s own reality.
Yet after everything conveyed in writing, the pain remains the same. For even a million words said and written would never be enough to ease the pain nor to bring back a love lost.
Even with all the beauty words possess, they can never cure a broken hearted man’s malady.