We held on tight, though the edges bled,
Words like knives, too much unsaid.
Love once soft turned sharp and cold,
A story too heavy, too bitter to hold.
So now we part, no fight, no blame,
Two hearts too tired to play the game.
Sometimes letting go is how we heal,
Leaving behind what we can't rebuild.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem