ripples

All it is, is a memory

pushed against the strongest of my heart

It aches, every time the weight of the memory

runs through my veins

Pressing it against the strongest of my heart

It aches, for just that moment

And leaves ripples of the ache behind.

If it weren't for the little lies,

just a tiny bit of deception

And the desire to get away unscathed,

this wouldn't exist.

If it weren't for the fear,

the uncertainty, 

our beautiful birth

and eventual death,

this wouldn't exist.

Now, it is, and will be

For the days ahead

Until the strongest of my heart has bruised itself

a little, 

under the weight of the memory

And healed.