There’s a scar on my left hand,
A pale, thin line,
From a morning when I stood in your kitchen,
The sun spilling through the blinds.
You were still asleep,
And I was making breakfast,
Half asleep,
Half hoping I’d be part of your mornings forever.

It didn’t hurt much then,
The can’s sharp edge meeting my soft skin.
The sting disappeared as the day unfolded around you.
But time has passed,
And the scar has stayed,
Etched into my skin like a quiet reminder.
I wonder if I’ll carry it forever.

And I often wonder,
If our love unravels
And the scar still remains,
If years from now
I’m standing across from someone else,
His eyes full of love and promises he intends to keep,
His hands steady as he slips a ring onto mine.

I wonder if I’ll catch a glimpse of that scar,
If I’ll be back in your kitchen,
If I’ll hear your voice,
And see your sleepy smile.

Will I hesitate,
Wishing it was your hands holding mine,
Your promise,
Your forever instead of his?

I’m terrified of carrying you like this,
A piece of you carved into me,
A memory that won’t fade.