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The Wounder and the Healer
November 9, 2023
Her love was a wound
Which his humility and kindness had opened,
A wound fresh for months,
That throbbed and gushed red hot blood,
Slowly draining her of life…
Trickle or torrent, tear by tear.
The only bandage strong enough
Was this one she knew she loved…
But despite her maimed and gory state,
He could not and would not see her or bind the sore.
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This was a random poem that actually ended up well describing how it feels to be in love with someone who doesn’t know you love them.