You never think that there will come a day when you will forget how
he once clutched your molten soul between his fingers and squeezed.
He bled Your Gold out over your naked body and thought it a masterful watercolour.
It was a death.
Your soul was all over you and you couldn’t collect the drops back together and he wouldn’t help.
But you did.

You never think that there will come a day when
The marks her fingers left won’t still feel like they are throbbing over your
Righteous indignation at her obvious betrayal
Her throwing you, limp and livid, under a bus of her own making, leaving you there for roadkill on a small hill far away; and no, she didn’t look back, never.

But you will.

You always hope that there will come a day when all truths that you need to know will be known, that
Flight of self to heavens you can taste and touch and see will be a familiar feeling, that
Life and love in themselves will become interchangeable versions of Your Gold, that
All will finally, be well.

And it shall.