The only way to describe it, is like a hole in a pair of jeans,

At first you ignore it, but that hole starts to get bigger.

It gets so big that you have to decide what to do.

Sew it together, close the gap, but it doesn’t sit quite right after that.

Or patch it up; cover it with another fabric.

 

From the outside it is new and clean, but underneath that hole is still there.

A loose thread on either option will reveal the hole.

A scar of a previous life.

 

My heart, my life, it all feels similar.

On the surface it’s patched together.

A superficial hold.

It can’t be fully mended though.

It can’t be as it was.

New jeans can be bought, but they are just never the same.