Do we live because of love, or do we live to be loved,
Because life is a broken heart.
At some point in life we shatter
And have to piece ourselves back together.

Or maybe our whole life we're broken.
Searching for our lost pieces.
Never to be complete.
Always to be missing.

Or to be grounded down
Into a million tiny pieces.
An impossible endeavor
Never to be put back together.

Which one am I?
Incomplete?
Beyond help?

I think not.
I'll find that piece.
I'll create something from those glass shards.

I won't bow down.
I won't be reduced.

I won't become
less...