I cry,
For all that I left behind,
And all that has left me behind.
Sometimes,
A smell, a taste, a noise,
Brings me back,
Sometimes,
It's good,
Sweet and soft,
Like my favorite ice cream.
Sometimes,
It stabs with a bitter knife,
Like biting into a lemon,
Eyes pinching,
Tears forming.
The pain, the hurt,
Tearing at wounds,
That just healed.
Or so I thought.
