You and I are good people with big hearts.
Mine had vines around it, yours had flames.
I put my arm out and said I could put them out for you.
And when I did, the thorn from the vine stabbed me and reminded me I had chains on me.
You smiled everyday and looked for a way to detangle the vines for me, you sat in the rain and tried to twist the knots in the right way.
You have been stabbed by the thorns. Your hands are all bloody and hurt.
But if you look up and at my heart again. There are no vines. Just light.
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