scar tissue.

I look at my leg sometimes and see that scar. The one I got when I accidentally scratched myself with a sewing needle when I sewed that patch onto your sweater. I guess that's what you get for sewing in shorts huh. That was two years ago, but it seems like a lifetime ago. I loved you back then. So much so that I didn't mind how ever many patches you wanted on your sweater, I would gladly sew each and every one of them on for you everytime you came to me with a new one, if only to take your sweater back so I could wrap myself in it at night. So I could learn your smell as I faded off to sleep. The patch that gave me the scar was the very first one, but I learned to be more careful the next times.

It has been said that time heals all wounds, I do not agree. The wounds remain - this wound remained. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers it with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it's never really gone. Now its just a faded red blotch of uneven skin. Sometimes too ugly too look at, sometimes too painful. But you know, the miraculous thing about the human body is that it's able to heal itself; fix parts that have been broken, scratched, torn. Say, if you break a bone, it can heal so thoroughly within a few months that even an x-ray can't determine the original fracture line. Sometimes, it grows stronger than before. But sometimes, there are things broken, and torn (most times inside of you) that can never really be repaired. The sad sad truth is that though it heals, it just doesn't look, or feel the same again, no matter which way you tilt your head.

He's somewhere out there, proudly walking around in that sweater, crowned by all those patches I sewed on for him. Like a suit of skin made from all the times he was never aware he hurt me, because I stuck those pins in myself, I sewed them on for him. He didn't have to do a thing, I did it to myself. But there he goes, walking around in that sweater, carrying my scars with him.

 

under every scar, there's a battle I've lost.