A Wound

Something so small
like a thorn-berry prick.
Insignificant at the moment of creation,
as I was blind and ignorant to something I believed was so superficial.
This wound was your doing and you probably don't even remember me.
We were young and ran into each other while running away from our monsters.
We found a desperate solace and comfort and called it love.
Our first taste of love was a cheap imitation
but it was sweet and we indulged carelessly.
As time revealed its secrets and pain we grew scorned.
It was then that you wounded me.
Many years would pass and turn to dust between us,
many years would pass before I would realize
that this wound has finally brought me to my knees.
Such an insignificant thing
and it is killing me.



Written for "Tragedy Strikes!" competition