It is true. The scars do remain.
It’s like the weight of the world rests on my chest, refusing to get off of me. It’s an inexplicable heaviness the human eye fails to see.
A dark cloud I try to escape manages to find its way to me, wherever I go. A dark cloud exemplifying unhealed wounds and unforeseen ordeals.
I leave the wounds to heal on their own, trusting that this too shall pass. Trusting that time is the healer. But my nemesis appears, picking the scabs off my wounds.
I bleed yet again.
