Why do we choose to keep some wounds open?

To freely choose to endure
the pain of self-infliction?

Perhaps…
In some way,
we deem it more just.

The slow poison
of daily remembrance.

A form of tribute,
to what once was.

Perhaps…
In some way,
we deem it more just.

Than to live in a world
in which to have forgotten every trace
of what we loved.