I can't fathom when it will quit.

that wreckage of love.

when promise and knowing-to-the-bone gives way to feeling everything burned, and gone, and lost.

I guess it only fits that such a feeling would stick with you for a while.

a friend wrote a song recently in which she sings of everything you need, and got, and know, being tied in knots, heaped up in back and burning. a bit about bones. a bit about tumbleweeds. a bit about the love you hold, and the love you spurn, never growing cold (only taciturn).

I keep listening to that song the way you scratch at a cut that's scabbing over.