Months later, at the point of no returnÃ¢Â?Â¦
Or at least you thought so after you told yourself time and again Ã¢Â?Â¦ there’s no looking back.
Another thorn comes to the surface
You didn’t even think you were holding the rose anymore
And that it couldn’t ever prick you if you had let it go.
But it does. that Prick.
It’s so sharp that it cuts right through your first two layers of skin
Deep into that part that’s white right before it bleeds.
You say to yourself the same thing that your friends said time and time again.
No, not Ã¢Â?Â¦Ã¢Â?Â¦ there are plenty of less slutty fish in the sea.
The one that goes – – Time heal all wounds.
You think really hard and repeat it again and again
Time heals all wounds. It does. Time heals ALL wounds.
It’s been months. You look down at your finger, and take the clichÃ?Â© literally.
Months later, you remember the advice.
you look down at your finger
and you see a scar.
Noticeable, with a story behind it.
It could’ve been anything,
a papercut, a knife, a teething puppy.
But you remember why it’s there.
Time didn’t heal the wound.
It made it permanent. I wish there was a verb form of permanent.
So instead, you decide you’re taking back
The scar, the prick, the thorn, the rose, the other prick, the last months of your life.
You wonder how you can do that. and then it hits you.
You take it back, you cut off your finger,
Your skin turns white right before it bleeds and you realize what you’ve done.
And you promise yourself that your hand won’t be next.