I know I have the capacity to heal you. I can see where all the holes are. You leak regret and discomfort from wounds that won’t heal. I’ve watched you tear them open just to see if they still exist, if they ever did, just to make sure you’re not crazy. You wonder why, on a day steeped in carefree indulgence, do you feel so uneasy, so broken all over again. But love is a landmine that is triggered by itself…even new love reminisces about the old. The one that both expanded your heart and tore it apart. The new love wreaks of putrid reminders even as your head is full of her perfume, your hands full of her body.
I know I could heal you. Slowly. Just like you need it. Sweet transitions with sweet nothings echoing in the hallway of her museum. You simply want to leave her behind. You offer your sins for redemption.
But I am always left wondering, who will save you from me?