Scab

You never really notice when a wound has healed.
There’s never a moment you can say
“And then I wasn’t cut anymore,
It was all better.”
Sure, we all notice when the bleeding stops,
But that’s pretty much the extent of the average attention span.
Instead, we just absentmindedly scratch the scab off
Over, and over, and over,
Looking down in annoyance and thinking
Oh that again, isn’t it gone yet?
But we never pay any mind to that moment
(That surely must exist)
Between being hurt and being un-hurt.
We simply look down one day and realize
There’s just a small pockmark of fading pink memory
Where once there’d been a gaping hole in a dying heart.