Before I tried to mend your heart, I already knew, that I would just be the outsider that searches the world for the pieces of your shattered heart, gathers those precious pieces together, painstakingly glue it together carefully so it looks as decent as new.

It saddens me to say the least, to know that your heart could barely contain your love and adoration for him, yet here I am, hoping that at least in some dusty corner of your heart, it will recognize the hands that put it back together. The hands of this outsider that would search the world for the pieces of your broken heart, a piece here, a piece there, and a few pieces here and there. The hands that gathers those pieces together, painstakingly puts it back together, and whenever the pieces of your heart isn't found and a hole left gaping, I will gladly rip a piece of my heart to replace yours. Even if it hurts me, I would gladly do it, if it means it could mend your broken heart. But I also knew, that when I would hand back your heart wrapped in a silk cloth, you would thank me, then leave me standing there as you hand your heart back over where it rightfully belong, into his hands, knowing full well that someday it would end up shattered in the ground again.

and I persistently would keep mending your heart, until someday you will realize what I have done, and maybe then you will accept me, and if im lucky enough, love me, even if its out of a heartbeat's pity.