Live love.

You told me that words were the most powerful thing in the world. I took that sentence to heart. To soul. It was everything I was based upon; I had the gift of the most beautiful thing in the world. And then he laughed, and I knew you were wrong. You were lying to make up for those who would never experience the sound of a laugh that could make every thing else fall in to place, or you were wrong because you, yourself, had never heard that laugh. I see the ties you've made and the bridges you'll never burn, and I pray to God you were lying for the sake of others; I pray to God you've heard that laugh and that you haven't settled like all the others. I pray you've felt arms around you and despite your size or past or especially your present state of mind, that it made you feel safe. I hope you've opened the door for a stranger, just because someone in your life has made you feel like everyone's got to be worth something. And I hope late at night, when you're laying in your bed, your ceiling takes the forms of a rickety old bridge with all the important planks missing. I hope in the pit of your stomach, you ache. And more than anything, I hope you take a step despite your fear. I hope you leap and pray and pray again when it's unanswered. I hope you fall and break and that when you're fixing yourself, you have help. Everyone should find themselves staring at their ceiling and feeling like deep in the pit of their stomach, they ache. And then they should break. They should be inwardly destroyed. And when they wake up, I pray that they're better. I pray their ceiling; their rickety old bridge, is a tunnel. I pray they see a light and I pray it's in the form of a heart. A beautiful heart that's not their own, but somehow fits perfectly inside of the cracks of the one that's beating twice as fast from inside of their own broken rib cages.

It may not be words,

but I've got the gift of the most beautiful thing in the world.