I grew up with princesses, fairies, and ponies,
So I spent my teenage years writing my own stories,
Chasing after metaphors that never felt quite right,
Engrossing myself in every whisper 'fore it took flight.

I grew up scared of real feelings, of holding hands.
The greatest enemy I got were the books I had read.
I treated love like competitions, my poems as the prize.
I gave away my heart in pieces, one each day — oh, what a price!

My planet revolver around the desire to be loved.
I crawled out of my skin for them, yet I wasn't enough.
So, after following delusions, hallucinations, and ghosts,
It feels unreal standing at the threshold of a nice and welcoming home.

My hand stays frozen to the handle: I can't, don't dare move.
This feels better than I'd imagined, even better than it should.
I take a few small steps — and somebody pulls me in —
His embrace is soft like angels, and, to it, I want to cling.

My joy's no longer seen as "burden", and my smile no longer burns;
My voice has got so much stronger — I can now compete with birds.
There's a gentle presence as I close my eyes to fall asleep.
Believing in fairy tales is best thing that's happened to me.

How do you heal a heart that's been rumoured to be fragile?
How do you introduce it to tenderness without sounding vile?
I've walked the earth for years and years — a friend to the unknown.
Enter you — colours shift and, with pure joy, my cup has overflown.

The wind's too strong to keep my feet glued to the ground,
The sun's bright enough to blinden me inside the walls of my house.
The rain's too loud, the snow is too white — nothing seems to be right.
My heart's too fragile, so my hold onto you might be a little too tight.

I find chaos in silence and avoid brighter colours to simply exist,
Like a child left home alone — fun at first but scary when there's a hiss.
I have never wanted a fire or a grand party with millions of friends —
Just give me a lover who will never think about playing pretend.

My heart's too fragile — it's not a condition, it's not a disease —
My feelings are so powerful and they crave for some form of release.
Fragility could meet tenderness and the world would collapse —
Two forces in one space should be too dangerous, perhaps...

Yet I've got you — a soul, so pure and tender it hurts a little sometimes.
And you've got me — a careless dreamer by day and a careful poet by night.
Your gentle hands unravel the spirals 'fore they take root in my heart —
Tenderness complements fragility even if one says it may be too hard.