Dear you,
Scars linger, refusing to yield,
Yet time's touch may bring them to heal,
The elusive moment, when solace reveals,
Do we wait, or let the pain conceal?
Do we yearn for healing's embrace,
Or prefer the marks to softly efface?
In this moment, could love erase,
Or must we traverse another time and space?
Perhaps another chance will be bestowed,
When wounds mend and burdens unload,
In the tapestry of fate, a different episode,
Where scars find solace, no longer corrode.
Sincerely,
Me.
All of us needed our own saviour. It could have been in any form. A person. A talent. An outburst. A paper. Laughing. Smiling. Walking forward. Breathing. Writing.
And some of us needed someone to save us from ourselves. Our minds. Our own demons scattered in the depths of places we don't even want to imagine. Perhaps, it was what she was looking for.
The depth within.
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But little did we know, the heart was nothing but a sponge. It absorbed all kinds of feelings--pain, pleasure, depression, joy.
Once absorbed, never stained.