In the hush of night, where dreams entwine,
Lies the ache of hearts intertwined.
When the wounds are fresh, emotions flare,
A storm of passion, and love laid bare.
Misunderstandings dance like flames untamed,
Fuelled by hurt, by words unclaimed.
In the midst of chaos, souls collide,
Struggling to heal, to cast aside.
Yet beneath the surface, hope resides,
In the depths where love still hides.
For wounds, though raw, can mend with time,
If hearts are willing, souls align.
Patience blooms in the garden’s keep,
Nurtured by tears, by nights so deep.
When the wounds are fresh, forgiveness grows,
A fragile bloom in winter’s snows.
For love is more than scars and pain,
It’s the dance of joy, the gentle rain.
In every hurt, a chance to mend,
To find solace, to make amends.
In the quiet hours of twilight’s gentle sigh,
When shadows lengthen and stars begin to pry,
There lies a realm where the heart dares not tread,
Where wounds are fresh and souls hang by a thread.
Beneath the veil of aching, tender skin,
Lies the ache of battles fought within,
Where every tear that falls like morning dew,
Reflects the pain of love lost and bids adieu.
When the wounds are fresh, the world stands still,
As memories rush in, a bitter pill,
Each scar is a testament to the trials endured,
Each cut a story that must be assured.
In the silence that follows a lover’s part,
Echoes linger like a haunting art,
The promises made in whispered breaths,
Now shattered like glass, a dance with death.
Yet in the depth of this cavernous despair,
Seeds of healing silently prepare,
For time, the gentle healer takes its course,
Turning agony into a tender force.
When the wounds are fresh, they bleed with sorrow,
A river of pain that knows no tomorrow,
But within this anguish, a spirit revives,
Finding strength in the ache to survive.
For scars are maps of a journey deep,
Where courage blooms and dreams leap,
Where broken pieces, though torn and worn,
Craft a mosaic of hope reborn.
When the wounds are fresh, and tears overflow,
Remember, dear heart, it’s okay to let go,
To embrace the ache, the raw, the real,
For healing begins when you truly feel.
Through the valley of darkness, stars will gleam,
A testament to the strength unseen,
In the cradle of night, a new dawn unfurls,
Awakening hope in a wounded world.
So let the wounds be fresh, let them bleed,
For from this pain, you will someday be freed,
In the tapestry of life, each thread is spun,
When the wounds are fresh, healing has begun.
