It doesn't matter how many pieces
you have in your heart, my love,
if in each fragment you find traces
of dreams, laughter and pain.
You are a puzzle,
a map of your whole life,
with pieces that sometimes are kisses,
and others, wounds that despair.
There are eyes that know how to look
beyond fragmentation,
that see in chaos an art,
and in sadness, a song.
Someone will come with patience,
with hands full of tenderness,
ready to put each piece together,
for he sees your soul in madness.
Fear not, wounded heart,
for such is life, a compass,
with twists and turns that sometimes have hurt,
but there is love, there always will be.
