About not trusting one-self

In the mist of this not-yet-broken-heart lay some shallow golden memories. I threw away me-self to the wolfs; I prayed out loud for them to keep my heart, a weightless-cloudy-pounding-thing untouched. And in an almost kind way they listened and did as I begged.

Some sort of brown feathers covered like silk this fragile-cloudy-quiet-heart, so forgotten and lonely. Sharing gost thoughts with the snow, pitiful feelings with thunder and getting burried by its own happy memories.

And soon, trees were chopped, wolfs were hunted just to build a so called town. Still unbroken, this quiet-no-longer-pounding-thing felt live upon itself and therefore the need for reaching it. Happyness wouldn´t burry me any longer, I struggled to reach the surface, to leave this dark and muddy ground.

But then I remembered my fragile-and-still-complete-thing, the hungry wolves, my weightless condition...I remembered me-self and went back to my place.