In the wake of storms, when you sit languorously on fresh rubble, a lazy cigarette tucked between careless fingers of your hand, you're thankful for being alive, with irreversible damages to your heart.
Bloodless, benumb, but breathing still. You build a dam around tears, in a dreamy hope, that one day you might run out of water to dip your paint brushes, and that'll be the day you'll need your reservoir.
It's a silly hope though..that dam can never be built. It breaks every few seconds.
Your fingers scrape around your surroundings, and come across a lump of lead. Gleefully you affix it, to where you remember your heart had been, and go about your day..with a bit of lead tucked inside the cavity you'd resolved would only ever belong to your heart.
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