Pain

A few syllables. An untidily scrawled word. Maybe a phrase. Or a few sentences sewn together like a sonnet.

Maybe broken shards of glass. Maybe music that suddenly fills a void, breaking an unnatural, uncanny silence.

Perhaps an image or a figure. A fragrance that lingers. Or a delicious aroma. A page from an unforgettable book, or the first rays of dawn.

It can be anything. Anything that is a reminiscent of what you left behind. Like a fallen feather from a bird that has long eluded captivity, the moments resurface. They flicker feebly as if alive, disseminating a momentary warmth in the frozen tundra.

You feel time rewinding itself, and the hourglass turned upside down. The tears pour silently as you try to hold yourself from falling apart once again and draw quick gasps of breath.

Equanimity settles in after a moment or two. From across, you stare at the reflection in the mirror. Pain etched across the desolate face.

Pain that will recur..

Pain with a palliative..

But pain without healing..