Mending?

Do people every really mend, or are our wounds always just lingering there right under the surface waiting for someone to come along and, like the rest, rip us open? I thought I had healed, one year and many drunken mistakes later I thought I healed, but here I am. Six months into someone new and a year and six months gone from you, even if it doesn’t quite feel that way right now. My wounds are being reopened as I sit here typing wondering why yet another is pushing me away like you. Not loving me the way he used to just like you did. Why another is packed and ready to depart leaving me behind to deal with a new pile of baggage alone, and to “mend” of course.