Not yet dead!

No amount of rain can wet this dryness inside nor can anything dry this wet, drenced part of me. A half of my heart is dry, withered. Time has squeezed out every last ounce of feeling out of it. Every betrayal, every rejection, every bad or sad experience has hardened it. It is dead. A half or maybe just a small part still beats with hope. Hope for love, hope for justice, hope for happiness for all still prevails...