“Time heals all wounds. And if it doesn’t, you name them something other than wounds and agree to let them stay.” – Emma Forrest
I watched her walk around with it for a long time; She saw me do the same – It was in our eyes, in the way we hesitated to say hi. You know, everyone has questions they wouldn’t mind asking, but it’s too much to ask of a person if you aren’t sure they wouldn’t mind. It’s too much to try and press yourself into the cracks, and attempt to soak out whatever shouldn’t be left to fester. So that’s what happens. Eventually we get around to tending them or someone else comes around and reminds us that we should take care of it – That it is okay to take care of yourself. And that’s when we get the chance to grow, where we are reminded that silence is our friend. We want to say something, but we have broken that trust, and it is up to someone else to restore it. Don’t woe over what you did in error because that only leaves behind what should be removed. Years later it will be healed, and forgiven; All things in time will be fine.
I was chasing through the city of faith, if I could just reconcile my disbelief with where I had found my feet. She was inked – Far more than the sketches of past lovers covered her skin. Even the hardest of warriors can kneel before the softest of things; Don’t be fooled, this softness is purely out of love – I mentioned once – The fiercest thing I ever felt was her bearing fangs down on me. I quiver at the way I was rounded out, the way I was gleaned from roughness, the way my cracks were filled as she lay atop me pressing into whatever wounds I now have long become one with. That night she gleamed like the crest of a lighthouse from my chest, and still I could only pretend to not be blind to love.
Of course I wanted to ask, I felt it deep within me to know what you held, but I knew it wasn’t my place to – I always wondered if you understood my silence, and if you never did… I accepted how you’d see me.