first love

Can you ever come out of the dreams and hopes of that first love?
can the scars of that first love heal?
even when the splinters of a shattered heart – tear you apart 
limb by limb, piece by piece,
like nails dug in deep inside your flesh
ripping away whatever little is left;

ripping apart the bandages you had stretched all over yourself –
in attempts to hide all the scars – stitches shaped as smiles
- vain attempts of showing the world how beautifully you healed; 
And the ripping has stopped hurting now,
maybe the skin has gotten used to
the opening and closing – every time the shards come knocking,

every time you think it is easy – to move over the forgotten 
graves, of the dreams and hopes of that first love;
Can you ever rewrite the nightmarish remnants of that first love?
maybe you are doing it all wrong,
maybe you are not supposed to rewrite the nightmares
maybe you let the shards pierce, and wait

wait till all that blood has slipped out 
and you don’t feel the piercing anymore,
maybe then you can mold the clayey remains
into something that doesn’t get punctured so easily;
maybe the pain from all the piercing, gives life
some intangible, incomprehensible meaning;

maybe then it’s the pain you start looking for
because it makes even the mundane feel special,
and maybe you get addicted to that pain and you try to find it
every time you think you need to find strength,
maybe then the pain stops showing up at your door,
and one day you plant a seed over that grave of lost dreams and hopes, 

only to move on; maybe only then you find out how it is possible 
for those lost dreams and hopes to rest and bloom,
maybe only then you find out how so many of us are trying 
to move past graves, and how beautifully we heal
when we help another in their quest of digging graves
to come out of the dreams and hopes of that first love;