We are all demanded at Pain’s doorstep. We gather our things, particularly our heart and its many lamentations, and find ourselves slaves to Pain’s will. Footsteps so heavy they drag discord across the tile. Minds so distracted the sunlight shining through only offsets shadows of memories we, Pain’s indentured servants, scrub to no avail. Chances we did not take, love lost or unrequited or overindulged, follow us around like ghosts waiting to move to the final beyond. We all pay penitence to Pain in one life time. We carry the scars of time served in our bravery to move forward, our bitterness to look back, or our relunctance to move at all. The survivor’s trail reads like a worn stretch of Indian road; dirty and tear-soaked. Outside awaiting our footprints like Pain’s best kept secret. Realization skipping about until we capture it in plain sight. Dawning our new beginning: Forever comes tomorrow. Forever a new day.

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