She had a story to tell, it was boring but it was her life that was hell and she had to tell someone. He had a shoulder so dry like a metaphor but he found caring so much made him so vulnerable.      This story wont ever end right, it’s not like either of us is changing. We know exactly what to do but might as well be strangers.      He had a hole in his heart from some other girl. She didn’t buy all his lies, she just let him hurt. Maybe lessons were learned but they didn’t show. So when she asked how he felt he always said he didn’t know.      Now you should see his ugly heart, dark shades of black and blue. He’s always praying for one last shot, one last chance. Nobody sees him much at all now, ‘cause he’s moved along. Like sand he blows in the wind, and gets burned by the sun.      Some stories won’t ever end right, this story’s not about strangers. My life is bursting at the seams, but as life bursts it’s blooming.