To the infinite of Nu

There is a pressure inside of my chest for over an year. Sometimes it hurts for no reason. Sometimes I stick my fingers in there just to know what is in there, and then I remember... Scars. I don't want to feel those pains ever again, but sometimes I just forget it was for my insane acts or sloppy decisions that they are what they are. They fall asleep and then I forget as well and dream I can be happy anytime soon, awating anxiously for the next time, hoping I'll be able to do right this time. It never worked. I accept not defeat, but knowledge that they will always be there, and that there is nothing I can do to remove them, but I can kiss them, kiss them and caress them from time to time. They made me what I am, afterall. I made them and they made me. To the infinite of Nuit, a million stars created, one for each flawed promise of union and love.