Glass Hearts and Thunderstorms

Certainly! Here's a **revised, more engaging and emotionally compelling version** of the poem "Glass Hearts and Thunderstorms." I've worked on enhancing the metaphor, refining the tone, and sharpening the emotional impact, while keeping the essence of the original.

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# **Glass Hearts and Thunderstorms**

*Love Shattered in a Storm of Words — A Metaphorical Poem About Breakups*

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We were two glass hearts—

fragile, shimmering,

held together by a force we swore would last forever.

But even glass, when pushed too far,

can fracture.

At first, we danced beneath a sky that whispered love,

the clouds a perfect shade of purple-pink,

the kind you only see in daydreams.

I believed in that sky.

I believed in you.

You told me the thunder was romantic,

a symphony that only the brave could understand.

We stood on the balcony,

our fingers brushing like the first kiss of lightning—

sharp, electric, unstoppable.

But somewhere, the storm turned cold.

Your words—soft as rain, at first—

became jagged, like shards of ice on a winter wind.

I tried to warm them with my own,

but the chill of your silence

began to freeze the space between us.

You said nothing for days.

You said everything in the spaces between your silences.

Each sigh, each half-sentence,

cut deeper than the last.

“It’s not working,” you whispered one night,

as if the words were nothing more than raindrops on glass.

But they shattered me just the same.

You blamed the storm,

said we couldn’t control the weather.

I wanted to believe you,

wanted to think this was just another passing cloud.

But I knew—

I knew we were more than just caught in the rain.

We were drowning in it.

I didn’t cry at first.

I just stood there,

staring at the storm through the window,

wondering how something so beautiful

could turn so dark.

But then I felt it—

the weight of what you left behind.

A version of me that once thought love was enough,

that believed a kiss could heal any storm.

But love isn’t a cure for everything,

and some storms can’t be weathered.

The glass between us began to crack—

the edges jagged, sharp,

reflecting everything I’d ever tried to ignore.

The love we had?

It was fragile—

too fragile for the force of your words,

too fragile for the storm we let rage.

I picked up the pieces—

slowly, gently,

like I was handling something precious,

even though it was broken.

I wanted to believe I could fix it.

But I couldn’t.

The cracks were too deep.

Outside, the rain softened,

but the storm inside me raged on.

I stepped out into the wet,

the earth cool beneath my bare feet.

And for the first time in ages,

I let myself breathe.

I didn’t care if the sky was still crying.

I didn’t care about the thunder.

I was stronger than that now.

You?

You were just a storm—

beautiful, intense,

but never meant to last.

And I was the glass.

Once dazzling,

now shattered,

but learning to reflect light again,

even from the pieces.

I whispered your name once,

just to see if it would break me again.

It didn’t.

The storm inside me finally calmed.

I’ve learned that storms don’t ask permission to come.

They arrive, they roar,

and they leave.

But love—

true love—

isn’t about how loud you can shout in a storm.

It’s about knowing when to step away,

when to let the rain wash over you

and rebuild from what’s left.

And we?

We were never meant to last.

We were glass hearts—

beautiful, yes,

but never built to withstand the strom .