The best thing about life is not living.
Nor loving.
It’s forgetting.
Forgetting the sadness and the pain and everything in the world that has ever left a scar on your soul.
And for awhile.
Life is bearable.
And you can sing and dance and laugh and smile and mean it.
It’s real. The happiness is real.
And when you glanced at the scars there was no haunting memory.
You could pull your sleeve down and enjoy the breeze in your hair.
And I remember those days when I forgot the suffering.
But, somewhere along the line I could no longer forget.
A trigger of some sort.
I slipped into the realization that I was living alone in an eclipse.
I slowly realized that my songs and my smiles were fake.
And as I glanced at the scars there was a throbbing memory that tempted me.
So, I pulled my sleeve up and watched my world unravel yet again.