They tell me time heals all wounds,
that even winter must loosen its hold,
that the branches will flower again
as though they had never known
the weight of snow.
And I wonder
if there is a cruelty in healing,
in the slow, indifferent turning of the earth,
and a blessing in the feeling of loss,
in the strange comfort of an open wound.
I want to be free of this.
God, how I want to be free.
But I am afraid of the morning
I wake and cannot remember
Why it once hurt so much to be without you?