Stain

A life is made up of a billion impressions, most do not stand

the test of time. The altering is subtle. A new shell on an endless beach.

Some split you open, the cuts, your hands hold the hunks of flesh until they fuse back together. Quick fix, come back to it later with kinder instruments.

I think I like the stains the best, the colours, the patterns. They last a while then fade away. Being with you

makes me wonder.

How long will you stick around?