There is no starting over.
There is only that scar on your left cheek,
there to let the band know that a fool approaches
so they can play their music.
There is no room for love.
There is only that word they call survival,
there to remind you that you have two legs
so to keep you upright.
There is no kindness in empty words.
There is only that harsh truth
there to let you lick your wounds while you hide in one corner
candy-coated for your convenience.
There is, however, a million memories that you can recreate
for a moment's peace
recreate that kiss,
that instance when your hands first touched,
that silence shared after a stolen glance.
That is all there is
before you go back to weaving dreams for children you have learned to call your own.
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