I move my hands across the skin of my wrist
It's soft, smooth; clear.
But it never used to be.
Over time, physical scars heal
Occasionally leaving behind some sort of mark.
A reminder of what was.
What used to be.
But there's nothing now.
It's as clean as it was,
Before the struggles,
Before the fight.
While the physical scars have faded,
The emotional ones never will.
Never given the chance to mend
So they won't.
As they burn deep,
It's a sad moment:
Reminders of life
Reminders of strength
Of relief
Now nonexistent.