I Don't Know

The Trace

It is a trace of red and blue,

The poetry of me and you,

Dancing in the moonlight dim,

Walking past the forest of dreams.

I've been here before,

And once again I came,

We were like Romeo and Juliet,

Walking past the forest of dreams.

It was like Romeo and Juliet,

And just when you saw her,

The gleam you had in your eyes for me became the gleam for her

And yeah we're like walking past the forest of dreams.

You left traces,

Traces that'll never be erased over time,

Traces you left like it is a scar,

A fresh one.

You left traces,

Traces that became a permanent mark,

Might heal in the eyes of the many,

But it feels like a fresh one.

You left traces,

Like it is an unending memory that will always and always remind me of the pain,

Qnd yes you left a scar,

You left a scar.

That's it, it was just A SCAR,

It should be just A SCAR,

But why does that "just a scar" feels like a fresh open wound?

Why does it hurt so bad?

That's it, it shouldn't hurt for it is "just a scar",

"Just a scar" that you marked into my humanity,

An unending story.

If it is "just a scar",

Should this hurt like it is just a new wound you carved?

Should this hurt like a new wound sprayed with alcohol?

Should this feel like it just happened yesterday?

It shouldn't, right?

For it is, no, for it "was" just a scar.

For it was just a trace you left,

The trace that should be said to be "a healed wound that became a scar."

The butterflies became the scar,

The trace from yesterday's story,

It was almost like Romeo and Juliet,

Only if the red became blue.

-@jade

- not a signed in writer

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