Retrospects

A name like a balm,
Spread for an aching wound.
My wounds.
It's the knowing and unknowing of things we've said,
And it hurts in that unforgetting because I am human
And bleed.
Arguments of wordless meaning scratching at petty frustration,
And stories woven with suppressed desires,
Fairytales.
I think sometimes I'd better not have met you,
I would not be earthbound
And I'd still think of love as a singular great thing
And not know the real heartache;
Naive child.
Yet you bring healing to,
You the elder fallen,
And I will not forget that
Clinging to name and memory
In hope that I will say it again,
And for the saying of it will be a better being.