August 13th, 12:42am. Distractions.

In the starkness of the night, on the last train home tonight, it hit me. All the history, all the bad blood, all the smeared mascara in the world cannot undo kindness.

What you thought was this heart going to war, was in fact, a masterpiece. Unwittingly, he built what could not be undone; a red scarf for all those raging bulls.

What you thought was damaged, in fact, still works. He kept it safe, put away. Oiled and smooth, like it's still 16. It can skip a beat. It can loose its breath. It doesn't think, it feels. It stutters. It gets shy. There is no cynicism, there is no thick fog, or fear. It just sat there all those years, protected, at peace, loving you.

Without a doubt, loving you.