I start with grandma’s soup, to remember my soul, Remember childhood, outstretched hands and forgotten tears.

I had forgotten what it was like to cry, To cry so hard that I could hardly breathe.

To love so hard that I could hardly breathe. I am full of endless excuses and what-ifs.

My excuses shrivel under the glaring sun. My what-ifs spiral into moonlit dreams.

Vivid dreams where I live lives never lived. Lives never lived, hands never held, bridges never burned.

Where are your bridges to burn? Wear your heart on your sleeve, grandma used to say.

When my heart grows cold, I start with grandma’s soup, to fill up my soul.