From where the blade of life’s Frankenstein hand cut, deep and intimate, let the wound bleed: in heart, in mind, in soul. And as the wound attempts to heal, over and again his hand strikes steadily; crossing through a stitch already made in his name. Bringing life to fear and loathing, what cries have left to gain?
When thought and present meet in silence, these wounds are left to heal, completely, once this four week cycle of his strategic routine has ended. Where tired skin worn low on elasticity, replaces the smooth with scar-tissue slightly protruded, now known, the only way to heal. His hands hold warmly pain, love and hate and your scars remain the markings of those fates.
After any experience that made you feel, whether it be great joy, sadness or anger–it remains. Even when you think you forget, a part of you covered, unseen remembers and knows all too well, the secrets that the creases in his palms tell.
Think back to when you fell in love and again to when it fell apart, with time you forgot what the pain really felt like. You forgot the number of nights you laid awake, unable to sleep, counting tears that hit your sheets. You forgot the intensity of the screams your heart let out while it ripped; made, felt and heard only by your soul. The words, those words, that could never fight through and surrendered with shortened breaths and silent whimpers. Time, enough of it, buries things well… until, love finds you again, but beneath the smiles and anxious meets, you remember love’s name by the scar it gave.
An instinct of memory leaves you apprehensive, lighter while you tread. Pain is the greatest teacher, but we must not fear it as we must not fear death; we must learn to fear, fear less. Two certain things we will experience in our lifetime, pain and death. Careful, as it’s easy to become resentful of happiness, only expecting nearly wanting the sweet ruin of pain. Holding little faith to the flame of hope, to the fleeting flame of life, but with that, you come to miss on many of life’s peace offerings.
From breathing, to sunlight, to the unconditional love that is formed when you will to live through the injury and then glide fingertips across the scars with admiration at you having lived through it. Thankful for the pain, the lessons and maturity gained over the former-self; someone you sometimes find yourself missing, but listen, you are who you were, now and so much more.
It is okay to want after you’ve lost, to empower yourself when you’ve been brought to your knees and know having to try to get to where you want to be does not make you less of a person. For most people, you only see the outcome, not the struggle they had to get there. So let yours be known only to you and let your reward be yours to own.
“To be alive at all is to have scars.” – John Steinbeck
With so much love.
© 2017 jk.larayne