Deceptive lines

For a moment,
Imagine,
How our faces would look,
If the lines,
That our tears leave behind,
Never went away.

Imagine a skin,
Which refuses to absorb,
Any of these lines,
And allows them to pave paths,
On the cheeks,
The lips, chin, and stretch till the neck.
Would we, then, love one another more,
Seeing, finally, the amount of grief.

Would our fingers,
Trace these lines,
From head to toe,
And feel the pain they carry.
But would it then be impossible,
To lift our faces,
With the weight of each line,
And would that hide half the world.

Also, would we love less,
Those who are unable,
And/or disabled,
From shedding tears.
And it may push us to think,
Those who don’t shed a tear,
Does pain and pleasure never embrace them?
Do lines not scratch their insides?
Do they not make holes in their hearts?
We may never know.

Also, as lines upon lines pile up,
Would they join together,
To become a stream,
And maybe something bigger?

But it may be better,
For lines to disappear,
At least, then, grief doesn’t mix,
At least, then, each grief has its own line.
And grief can smile,
Knowing,
That the pain of a blister,
Is kept separate,
From that of heartbreak,
Which in turn is distinct,
From loss,
Which, too, splits into many more lines,
From the loss of a friend,
To a loss of a lover.
From the loss of respect,
To that of hope.
From the loss of guilt,
To that of a well-guarded memory.

But aren’t these lines ever so deceptive,
Making you believe that pain,
Inside,
Was just equal to their length outside,
Ha!