remains to remind

Your drive and incomparable passion to make me hurt is staggering just as your infatuation with being held by someone else, someone lesser or someone better, is heart wrenching. But the question begs to be asked, my dear, what have I ever done to justify yourself and the heart you own in committing these actions? My teeth ache almost constantly now, just as every wandering puddle in the street seems ten feet deep, but like all things once stepped through and accomplished naively disappear and never seem to have taken a toll. Like when your eight and your head throbs and you think it will never leave you, "once this is gone" you state "I will be grateful for every second of its absence" but within minutes of its departure you forget it even hurt until it floats down through the trees, and tucks itself back into your eyes and head and chest for another round of bruises and bumps, and it remains to remind like so much else in life, that pain is an old friend of the soul which you insist must come around and visit often. Little pieces of my heart fall off every time, they sprout legs and arms and little souls of their own, and they climb down my spine and slide down my legs and hide in the cracks between the floorboards and socks and crumbs. They wish and wait and plead for me to give up on you someday soon.