Scars; they seem so beautiful at times.
I’ve got many, deep and shallow.
They aren’t self-inflicted, well consciously they aren’t. They cover my arms, my legs, even my fingers are painted with them.
To others it might seem like a cry for help or a careless attitude but for me it’s my whole life story engraved on me.
Every scar, every bruise has a life of its own and a space in my heart.
They either remind me of a place or a person.
Sadly, there is no magic wand to rub them off of your body.
Even if they fade away over the years, the impact still stays there in your head. The mental scars are the worst of its kind.
They haunt you even in your dreams. These scars cause you to stay stuck at a point of your life where you’re unable to move or breathe.
At some point of time your soul is so heavily bruised that the physical pain is nothing but a mere pinch.
This is the time where you start feeling like an outsider in your own life and when you look down at yourself you realize how helpless you are and how stagnant you’ve become.
Every scar you look at is bursting with frustration. It’s screaming to bleed out.
But then something strange happens over time, you start to admire them and appreciate them.
Why? It is because you realize that these very scars show you how far you’ve come.
It shows you that you may have faced hurdles but you still have a long way to go.
It tells you not to give up even if every inch of your body is marked and dashed, to celebrate the scars instead.
Even if you don’t make it in the end at least you have something to show to the world that you never backed down.
Paulo Coelho
May be not who I am, sure the way to who I am.
ernesto oso
