If I knew how many scars I have
I could tell you how many scars it takes
before you’re unwilling to let someone in,
before you’re unwilling to risk heartache.
The heart, she’s still dwells inside,
for my weaker moments tells me so,
still, the broken pieces no longer bind
and experience urges me to remain alone.
I could reexamine my decisions,
but no amount of “if onlys” make an “us”
when life’s accumulated scars
have burned away the trust.
It took miles traveled to understand:
“alone” and“lonely” hold different meanings,
that happiness resides not in someone else,
but in the person who never leaves me.
©June 2014, Christina Anne Hawthorne