Like a wound sealed shut and bandaged away
I stray from looking at it, from testing the healing skin.
I know the pain I felt and I'm not curious to know if it still aches.
I don't look back and try to remember.
Like the knowledge of being burned when touching the fire,
I know that the memories will sting.
Not because they were bad, but because they were really good and I cannot have them back.
Because I cannot build upon them, because I cannot construe more with the same characters and situations.
I... just sigh and let it go.
Maybe in time, my time will come.
Maybe there will be something to hope for. Maybe I'll be able to dream, and soar and relish in the joys that will come and I won't fear crash landing back into reality.
Maybe I'll get to a point where I'll allow myself that which seems like a guilty pleasure at the moment.
Maybe things will simply fall into place on their own...
for now, I'd rather be a surpised pessimist than a dissapointed optimist.