Scars. They begin after an injury. A natural form of healing, they come after an accident, a broken heart, a mishap of some kind. If you’ve been on the planet for a bit, you probably have at least one or two you got when you were a kid, haphazardly trying to navigate some dangerous new thing. There are those kind for sure, but then there are the ones we cannot see: emotional scars that we keep hidden, buried so deeply we don’t even recognize ourselves as the walking wounded.
I had so much hope.
I don’t know if I have it in me to go through this again.
It hurts.
Scars.
When I fell off my bike and onto the pavement, my two front teeth broke off. I felt them force into my top lip, making a jagged slice; he was half a mile in front and didn’t even know I’d fallen.
Why was he so far ahead?
Why wasn’t he riding beside – or at least nearer – to me?
Why was I facedown on the ground, tasting my own blood, alone?
The ER. Stitches. “Time heals.” Fuck you.
My Scar.
Every day it gets better. It’s growing fainter and fading. But I know. I know it will always be there – a little two inch reminder of what happened, of what once was.
A reminder of how hard it sometimes is…to fall.
@littlebrownbutterfly