Call It Love

What is it like to only have one set of memories? 

One point of view rising clearly above the rest? 

I do not know the words for any of this 

other than heartbreak, repeat

The years pass and little changes

The same abrasions, bruises bloom 

The same blood bleeds anew,

watering the same soil 

iron-rich but depleted 

What’s another word for silent treatment? 

What would Jesus think of you?

How many times will you endure this treatment and call it love?