Sometimes I forget that this heart tore once, or twice, or too many times.
It makes sense when I remember, because it must not have put itself back together
just as it was before.

Sometimes I turn and it catches, something not placed quite right.
Now and then a stitch that refuses to mend well.

Lately it's been all about remembering.
Lately, I keep remembering and it keeps hurting, dull but there.