to be fixed

repair

fixing is for busted pipes,
blown fuses,
or a tire with a nail in it.
it is definitive and final—
a means to an end.
the tire will not remember
the sting of the nail
piercing it and leaving it empty.
the fuse will not hold onto
the fact that it faltered
under the overloading shock.
nor will the pipe recall
when it leaked without care,
flooding the foundation.
to be fixed
is for that which holds
no memories.

but to be healed is for man,
for the wounded soul.
it is a slow process,
the clock by which we measure
that which pains us.
it begins in the moment of,
the pinpoint in time
when your flesh is torn open.
soft tissue mends shut,
scabs form and rip back off.
but should you neglect it,
infection creeps in,
leaving you fevered,
begging for a chance at
amputation,
to rid yourself
of the putrid reminder.

but with patient hands
and time,
a scar will grow in its place.
on days of clear skies,
you will rub your finger over it,
surprised at its softness,
and find that it is near numb.
but when the storm clouds come,
darkening your skies,
the pressure in the air will grow
and that paper-thin skin
will ache and burn like no other.
your heart will fear
that the wound is open again,
but it isn’t.

because healing is not fixing.
it is not a resolution
nor is it a finish line to cross.
it is a journey,
a path we walk along
that shows us that the bleeding
has finally stopped.