What prickles old scars? Or wounds where X marks the spot?

I wonder if there will ever be a time when your face smiling back at me in the arms of my friends won’t rest like a needle against my heart, knowing I relinquished that life to you.

When mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and childhood friends could be taken away by your wanton arms. You wanted all of me, everything that came with me and because I wouldn’t, you did.

Standing in a corridor of mirrors it’s hard not to look at yourself, there is no where else to look, when figures of me look back. I want air, air is great, I can pretend I don’t care behind the disguise of air.

My eyes try to give me away, it’s my somewhat hurt spirit, with the memories that it has of us, it pulls hard at a waterfall, trying to give it’s drops the light of day or the faint glow of the night.

Pride holds it back but pride is not strong enough and sure enough, spirit wins and prizes those drops and pushes them forth.

There you are, as ever you force your way back into my life and only because I let you, because I give into those tarnished memories I have of us, the ones where you plagued and I looked for antidote.

I know that it’s just old ghosts here in the corridor with me tonight. Though they whisper at my skin, they cannot inflict on it anymore.

Standing here, back now, I don’t miss you, not you, you are welcome to that old life, the one that I have forsaken to you.

Your candid smiles only haunt me for a while, when I look at them in maple sunrise and see it’s a trick played by the flashlight on your faces.


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