I Notice Faint Scars On Her Wrists

I'm Watching Her Talk. Watching Her Jaw Move And Collecting Her Words One By One As They Spill From Her Lips. I Don't Deserve Them. Her Warm Memories. I'd Like To Paint Them Over The Bare Plaster Walls Of My Soul, But Everything I Paint Seems To Peel.

Soft Flesh Is Eaten By Hard Teeth.

I Hate That She's Hurt. I Hate That She's Been Hurt, By Me And By Others, Throughout The Entire Arc Of Her Life. I Barely Remember Pain, But When I See It In Her I Feel It In Myself, In Disproportionate Measure. It Creeps Into My Eyes, Stinging, Burning.

We Are Where We Are, However We Got Here. What Matters Is Where We Go Next.

We Eat And Sleep And Shuffle Through The Fog, Walking A Marathon With No Finish Line, No Medals, No Cheering.