Damaged...

Damaged... The imperfections that resound on the surface of our skin... Our past seeping through the cracks of the deepest, darkest places that were once deadbolted to create the avoidance of closure we so desparately needed.

The diminuendo of your mind racing with each day that passes met by the crescendo of time catching up with the unanswered questions... the "what if"... the "I regret"... the "what I would have done differently"... the "I should have done this"... the "I remember when"... the "I should have said this"... the "We tried so hard"... the "Love should have been enough"...

But sometimes the answers can only be conjured in your own mind... Your pride says that you shouldn't be the one to talk... Your fear says that the person holding the answers is the person who hurt you in the first place... Your confusion says you'll never get the answers you're hoping for... Your pain says you can't trust that the person won't hurt you again... and in the end, you tell yourself a story that quiets the broken chords if only for a moment. If only to get one night's rest.

And as you lie there... creating your own lullaby... you know morning will erase the reconciled music you wrote only hours before. But you're relieved... because one quiet, peaceful night was worth the lie...