A bruise is tender
but does not last,
it leaves me as
I always was.
But a wound I take
much more to heart,
for a scar will always
leave its mark.
And if you should ask
which one you are,
my answer is -
you are a scar.
What was it like to love him? asked Gratitude.
It was like being exhumed. I answered. And brought brought life in a flash of brilliance.
What was it like to be in loved return? asked Joy.
It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.
What was it like to lose him? asked Sorrow.
There was a long pause before I responded.
It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me -- said all at once.
