Saturday, December 19, 2009

Estrangement.

Cuts suddenly remembered; unexpectedly catching and pulling open during the routines of life.

Not a very sharp knife having sliced a finger lightly; not the skin, not the bone, not the muscle, not the flesh.

Instead, feelings repeatedly nicked over time, confused by the edge of the false comfort of family relations.

Wounds growing slowly, and the ache and stings of interacting; distance, space, and absence, the only cures.

In the fading, wiping of time, the blood is cleansed.

Regret; a forever, lingering taste.