To be broken is to break a heart with pumping blood and veins.
The deep pain and suffering that's caused by a verbal altercation in one's mind from the past of hurt and tears which fell down her white face as she cried herself to sleep in the comfort of her bed.
The feeling of warmth is non-existent when speaking upon her sack of hatred and lonely nights.
She craves attention from no one but the midnight sun.
To her, the sun can never be as bright as when she opened her eyes in the morning.
The relief she feels when the warm light traces her imperfections as if it loves her.
But not even the midnight sun can love someone who is broken.