Scars, Fingerprints and Souvenirs.


Scars, they are so acutely prominent.
Flesh and blood, like a part of you,
like your soul, dead.
A part of you that was hurt.
Keep digging it, keep probing it, it will bleed again.
And there is no conventional measure
that fathoms that pain.
The scar, uncannily like a fingerprint
A fingerprint on your soul,
of the people who touched your lives.
Eternally engraved,
profound memories, unfathomable insecurities,
a perpetual empowerment.

So let it go.
Let it go and it will heal itself.

A scar is left behind, then.
Tell tale of so many untold stories.
The Girl and the Bottle.
The Friend and the Trust.
The Boss and the Job.
The Dreams and the Fear.

Like an everyday building,
people just pass you by.
But there are some that stick out.
Like a fire in a forest
Or pouring rain in a drought.

We think the scars remind us
Of the wound,
Of the people, of the hurt.
But they in fact indicate
the wound has healed;
leaving you a tiny
souvenir behind.


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