And just when the wound seems to have healed, somebody would invariably prick it. All the time and effort put in to healing lay wasted, such mayhem triggered by a small action or a small conversation. Whoever said that time heals the greatest of the wounds? Whoever suggested that one should move on, has never told how to. How could one, when they are stuck in the past? How could they, when they were, in fact, cruelly crushed into a million pieces, each thrown in a different direction? How could they possibly move on when every living moment they are burdened with the memories of the best they had, living knowing too well that those times can never be re-lived, that eternal damnation is what they are destined to. How could they move on with something as unforgiving as a heartburn...And everytime they attempt such a fallacy, it only takes a tiny action or a familiar word to bring back the flood of memories which inundates them in the ocean of pain from which there is no escape.
