Cicatrix - A Memoir to Faith

Cicatrix- the healing of a wound, a scar.

They told me to have faith, I looked back at them with sickly eyes and said I have no more, but I lied. You began as an initial infection, small particles of you were absorbed by me and entered my superficial layers the day we spoke outside of Spencer. The transmission of your heavenly words caused all of my prayers to be collected like spare change in softened sofas. However now despair sunk in deeper into the woven waves of my skin and dodged all my battle ready blood cells. You see, I believed she was immune, her impervious shape was blessed by the natives of the land, she was the first of the Americans. Her name was stitched in every leather bound bible found next to words like love, hope and joy. I think it’s Matthew 17:21. However my body bared these no more for my heart was surgically sliced away by the somber news I heard that day. Your antigenic absence committed me to produce non-specific responses when asked about the times we had together or do you miss her. The incision caused by your exit hurt at first, I felt the pressure and pain from never hearing you say my name in that sweet southern accent again. A haliwa sa what? Oh wasaponi it was humorous how you revealed your tribal tendons, bridging the gap between these bony bodies. My prescription proved to be useless, I can’t cure this strain of sadness that was injected inside the intercostal spaces of my chest. We shared so many memories and moments like two junkies exchanging needles, needless to say I tested positive for friendship. I will try and treat it at best. I had constant feverish attempts to bring back moments long forgotten like the Roanoke colony, it’s ironic because in seven weeks alone you colonized our lives with that infectious smile, your vial particles reproduced feelings of family in these cells, until God grabbed his scissors to cut the umbilical cord that bridged you to our beating bodies.  Maybe I should carry around a mustard seed and see if that somehow sprouts out to reveal your blossoming face again. Before the day came we would sing songs about senior year and summer times, too bad our rhymes now have fallen through the gap junctions that once connected two hosts. My last relic is a gold poster that bears a heart crafted by the hands of a newly winged angel. Those leaky blood vessels that once bore my hopelessness were cauterized when I remember conversing with you outside of the classrooms in the summer heat.  It’s been almost a year now and I have not fully doused this chronic inflammation that has become a fire starting in my soul. I know that I am not the only one, see there is a waiting room full of patients who are patiently waiting for the day we can gaze upon your starry eyes. And although your case has yet to be solved, I feel somewhat absolved by the hands of the Lord, as he loosens up the tangled tissues that were once transfixed on your tender touch. As my lungs collapse I relapse back to the days we shared laps on the P2P. A point to point proved pointless now that your destination can be found somewhere between dusk and dawn. And now I stand here to proclaim these feelings like the final scene from "The Notebook". I’m glad I partook in your medical process, because now I possess the power to heal my wounds. I was once diagnosed with depression due to the dying of a friend but thanks to your transplanted teachings I can live knowing you are always with me. And even though my prideful rock still bears the scar I will always remember the days we all had Faith.
R.I.P.

Just Have Faith

~White Rabbit