who read away their worries
and dance off the pain,
who write sappy poems about
things they've never seen
places they've never been
songs they've never heard
this is for the hopelessly romantic
and the tirelessly indifferent
for the people who care too much and
those who don't care at all
(because the people who don't, once cared a hell lot)
this is for the people
who fell too hard the first time
and again, on the second
and again, on the third
those who never stopped loving,
who wore hearts on their sleeves,
goodbyes on their lips
— all the words that were left unsaid
sat comfortably
in the pockets of their cheeks
this is for the boy
who still believes in miracles,
wishes on falling stars
and lit-up birthday candles
who loved so endlessly that you could fall in love
with the way he fell in love
with people and places
and spans of time
there are days
— and there will be more days
when you sit yourself down
and wonder why the fire that screams inside of you
continues to burn bright
even on nights
when you find it
hard to breathe,
hard to sing the tune you always did,
and you crush up the poem
you wrote last night
because it didn't feel right
because nothing ever felt right
but you'll be okay
I promise you, one day
you'll find your haven
and visit the places you've never been
hear the songs that express your innermost thoughts
— you won't have words left unsaid
or have trouble finishing a story
and you'll be okay
I promise