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Growth

"you are the conscience I've lost.." she says

I remember that cold, frosty night we talked of conscience, of you not finding it inside you, only pain and darkness.
And you ran so far, you beautiful girl.
so close to self mutilation and becoming a cold shell of a person

That night.
somehow

I managed to say exactly the right thing, and you decided to fight for your life and your soul

Dear beautiful girl,
You've kept fighting since.
And I know life is hard and has kept dealing you pain and sacrifice
Yet you just grow
stronger

I remember back then, that snowy night.
You, completely drunk and high on tobaccco

Things were so black and white for me
so clearcut and understandable

SO much easier to convince and help people

Now I see that it's all so much more complicated
and I can barely hold it in my head
and I know
I have no chance to ever pass it on as I see it in my mind

Does that mean I can never help again?

Poetry by SecretWords