It's that knot you feel in your stomach
When a certain song plays
Or the stabbing coming up underneath your chest
As you uncover traces of a memory
Like an archaeologist
Searching for your own past
Sifting through layers of old dust and dirt
Seeking out your own skeleton
It's the realization of how fragile things are
How just the right touch leads to fractures
How fractures lead to spiderweb lines
How those lines lead to shattering
How shattering produces shards
How shards become bullets
How bullets tear and cut and kill
How bullet wounds can heal
But maybe aren't the same
And is that okay?
Do you have a choice?
It has to be okay.