Sometimes, the wounds we have, and the cuts our souls bleed from, don’t ever get healed. We just become used to having a part of ourselves die every day, with every drop of blood that falls to the floor of our shattered belief in happy endings and victory of good over evil. That pain becomes a part of us, of our existence. It’s our story of what made us who we are, the footprints that will lead a follower to the destination we’re at, even if he doesn’t know he’s treading the same path, because the bright light of love, blinds his sight of conscious thinking and makes him walk a path of thorny rose bushes that cut him so deep that by the time he realizes, his will to even try, has lost itself like the roses he had managed to pick along the way. But that’s what love is. A lover would rather live that pain, than regret walking that path, because among the countless lovers that have found themselves in the same place, he lives with the hope that his love was the strongest, the purest, most worthy of another journey of that pain he will always carry in his heart, because it’s the evidence of his most humane days, when he was ready to forgive even if he couldn’t forget, to hurt even if he couldn’t be healed. He can never forget those times when he would sit alone in the dark, seeing the flame of a candle in the darkest dungeons of hopelessness. He can never forget the feeling of sheer bliss and buoyancy that floated over his smiles. And nothing could overcome the overwhelming joy he couldn’t contain in his chest. He will always want to hold on to the last memories as much as the first, steal a look and see the and see them looking back at him with the same love and affection, which will never die out like the small fire that couldn’t survive the coldest winter night.
Time changes everything. What once seemed like a better world now seems cruel, because, things, people and emotions all lose their value to the same. They say that time heals all wounds, but we lovers only know that there’s just too much that time cannot erase. Because in between the pain I breathe and the tears I cry, I am still a lover.