Maybe I rush to have my heart broken,
To write about it later,
Subconsciously collecting plots.
Sometimes I think I should give up,
But what will I be left to write of?
So I brace my self, and bucle up,
Riding through life's creast and trough,
Like a worn out battery,
Going through cycles of charge and discharge.
Not knowing if I will be any good,
When I finally, if ever, meet 'Her'!

- Nix