Scars, such interesting things. Marks of the past, permanent reminders of what was once there and what now is. A reminder of pain, past and the present.
A scar shows what we once had, innocence, perfection. And the reality we're now left with, years later. A damaged, marred piece of what we once had.
A scar on a girls cheek, thin white with age.
That scar hadn't always been a scar, no once upon a time it had been a wound. A wound so deep, so evasive it left a permanent mark on the soft flesh of her cheek.
The pain of the wound had once been present, the pain that would have ripped across her cheek. A sting, a burning sensation that not only effected the wound itself, but the surrounding area. And the mind.
A scar, it infects everything the wound is linked too, the tissue, the muscle. Everything in direct contact.
The pain would have alerted her to the situation, would have told her that things aren't right. She would remember the pain, as something that hurts, something that cuts through not only her flesh but all other thoughts.
The wound, now a scar. A pale reminder of what once was there.
First the perfection, a whole image.
Secondly the wound itself, the moment where it was torn apart, the image no longer whole.
And finally, when we heal, we patch it up the best we could. We tuck it all back in, stitch it up, take something for the infection. But we're left with that Scar.
The reminder, forever a reminder of that chapter of her story.
The scar, a simple mark on a soft cheek.
A series of events, past, present and the certainty that that scar will be there in the future.
But just because its there, doesn't mean it shapes us.
Its up to her, how much she heals, does she let the crack in that once perfect image become part of her, the past.
A memory.
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