It's funny,
how when you read something
and realize that it basically
describes you and is talking
about you
and that there is a person
out there who relates to you,
and yet you still manage
to find a way to convince
yourself that no one
understands you
and you're just being dramatic.
Because this isn't fiction.
It's reality.
But apparently they're pretty similar
Sometimes.

Do you ever just think about how you ended up thinking about something, and then try and retrace your thoughts?
.
.
.
Why am I trying to figure out how I thought about this?
.
.
.
Ohhhh. That's how I ended up thinking about this.
.
.
.
Why can't I remember? Ugh.
.
.
.
Why did I think about this?
.
.
.
I need to write something for HP. It's been a while.
.
.
.
I need to sleep.

Everyone has scars they want to protect.
Even though scars aren't secrets.
They can be seen.

But because everyone can see them,
They'll want to know
The story
Behind your scars,
Which are secrets.

One is questioned,
The other is unknown.

So which is the secret?

The story?

Or the scar?

Which would we rather hide?

...I was a child. I didn't need to be strong,
I needed to be safe.