Scars

By Aavanthika Praveen

My scars. I touch them, each one feeling different beneath my skin.

They were wounds once but, now they've morphed into a haunting reminder of something else. 

They’ve faded over time but now, they’ve stopped.

As if on pause, as if there is something shielding them from disappearing into the folds of my skin.

The earlier one faded easily.

New ones though, are profound.

They take up space in my mind and body, trying to claim it as their own, fighting for dominance over my sanity.

The earlier scars didn’t want to stay, they were ephemeral.

The new ones are rather sedentary, they remind me to forget.

I expect the scars to start bleeding again, to rip open and spill crimson rivulets from the exhaustion of staying still.

They don’t. They don’t break, they don’t rip, they stay, defying me.

They say time heals all wounds;

my wounds have long healed, leaving behind small, stark reminders of them, the scars.

Scars don't heal, they fade.

What if they don’t? What if they forever mar my soul, skin and body?

By Aavanthika Praveen