Memories do not always soften with time; some grow edges like knives. - Barbara Kingsolver


John knew this
too well
(because sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night
sure he heard gunfire or calls for help
or dying moans that he couldn't save
but the ache in his shoulder
reminded him
that part of his life was over now)

(sure
the ache in his shoulder
faded
softened
until most of the time he didn't notice it
but he wasn't sure
if that counted
if memories of pain
were indeed memories
or just his skin reminding him
to tread gently there
because
it had already
been through
enough)

(but this
Sherlock
was a whole new
layer of pain
memories
that did not dull
or soften
fade
or hurt any less
day after day

but instead
gnawed at him
replaying
The Fall
over and over
like he couldn't see it
if he closed his eyes

and indeed
seemed to sharpen over time
until they carved a hole
in his chest where
something
used to be
that Sherlock had given him
but he could
no longer keep
now that he was gone)

(yes
indeed
the memory of Sherlock
sharpened
and it seemed
it would continue
until it sliced him
into tiny rivulets
of a broken man)

(especially
that
ONE
in particular)

(falling
falling
falling
)

some memories
may have
faded
but not this one
John knew

far
too well
in fact