I implore you, Time: heal me—
but be quick about it.
Take these broken, pulverized bits of me
and put me back together,
but make haste.
I don’t want to wallow in despair,
or be bogged down with the weight of this hurt.
So I beseech you, Time: be the salve for this heartache,
but act with expediency:
be like the speed of sound, a sonic boom,
that shatters the sky
and makes the heavens reverberate,
splintering this misery into oblivion,
or move like Mercury, the swiftest of gods, with the mission to soothe
my wound, void this betrayal, and erase the memories
that remind me of him.
So heal me, Time, but be quick about it—
because my spirit is shredded
and the pain is unbearable.
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