Well, there are memories I've never learned, and you are one of them. I look into your past and see nothing there but what you've said and what I can only assume. I wonder and watch and wait for you to tell me. I'm only your friend, but I promise my love for you is larger than my imagination. And how can my love / Embrace / Quell / Calm that pain? / I'll be here all the same. But you may never know that I know, but I do, and I'm sorry, and its pity I feel, but empathy also. Because my love has an imagination. It says I've had a past life that's felt what you've felt, and though I never have, I have, I have. I feel it. It hurts. It's a deep memory of a time I never experienced. You didn't mean to, but when you did, you reached in and pulled it to the surface.
And now I remember the scars. I've seen yours. Maybe you haven't seen mine. The ones on my wrist. The ones on my arm. The ones under my sleeve. Ladders to the heart. Climb the broken past and they'll find us where we are. But what will they see. Not this love. Not this love I have for you or this love you have for me. They see pain they don't understand. But I do, I have. And even though your pain is worse than mine, I hear your heart's cry, and I want all and to gather the blood to put it back. But I know too much has been spilled. And that weighs heavy on my own. Like you, I am on my own. Although, there is love, and it is for you.
~MFW III
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