When broken hearts beat again
The term broken, comes from someone who made my whole world dance,
the kind of soul you swear you knew before, not met by chance.
“In another life” doesn’t pass us by unnoticed or unseen,
we were lost lovers choosing different roads, different in-betweens.
Today we walk apart, pretending distance doesn’t sting,
but maybe one day our crooked paths will circle into one same thing.
Maybe you’ll sit still with that familiar ache inside your chest,
and hear a muffled voice whisper low, “I wish you the best.”
You’ll change the channel, waiting for something new to begin,
and there I’ll be, flickering light, my heart trapped in the screen.
I’ll speak on love, on how it feels to want while you’re below,
how rock bottom teaches longing in a language only the broken know.
You’ll hear me talk about a love memorised, never gone,
etched so deep in memory it survives when time moves on.
Something gentle, like a breeze beneath your tired feet,
maybe that’s where they found the words “when lost lovers meet.”
We might meet again, but never face to face,
just a knowing smile passing through a heart that’s lost its pace.
A ticket. A flight. Always returning home,
a distant night ahead, dialling your number into a public phone.
Those memorised digits, kept for when we fall apart,
but that return-home ticket still leads to who stole my heart.
I board the plane I stepped onto because of you,
while you watched my mind drift, I thought of you the whole way through.
Your smile echoes, an empty ring inside my head,
faceless, yet familiar, wanting to be understood instead.
We may be lost, we may return, the future left unsure,
but for now I’ll walk my path with you, my dull heart burning pure.
I memorise my seat number like a prayer I’ll never send,
and tell the world exactly how it feels
for when broken hearts beat again.
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