I forgot
how I got
this wound on my knee;
maybe I stumbled on a wet floor
when I was young,
or caused by a spiky rock
I once kneeled on.
I forgot
how I got
my injured feet;
maybe it's all because of me
when I rode a bicycle
then I suddenly fell
and my feet's bone got a fracture
or another silent accident before
led me into this incident.
I forgot
how I got
the bruise around my legs;
maybe I have a disease
on my blood,
or it's just a sign
of the decreased levels
of nutrients in my body,
or I don't have any clue at all
the reason behind.
I forgot
how I got
my itchy rushes;
maybe it's an inborn ailment
of mine
or a hereditary ones
that came from
my father's ancestors,
or because of me
for I still eat foods
that aren't good on my health.
I forgot those, except
—how I got this broken heart,
from the moment you left
up until now.
I still remember the reason
why I'm still crying
every day and every night
even all I did
was to love someone
whom fated
to destroy me after.
And this is
the kind of pain
I can't forget
to remember,
over those
unlimited variety of pain
I've encountered
from time to time
that challenges
my own ability
to heal
my own pain
through remembering
the worst pain
I've experienced
—you.