Scars are just scars. They do not hurt any more. It is always the freshest wound that hurts most.
Scars tell their stories and it is those stories that hurt; not the scars themselves but the memories brought about when you emotionally rip off that patched up mark on your skin to have the scenes of your flesh and his flesh on the same setting, replayed on your mind.
Sometimes. Well. Sometimes.
Sometimes we do not need someone to erase the scars. Somehow we do not even feel the need for someone to serve as our vent. Not someone to listen to our life story, to listen to our tragedy and love us even after our dark history. Not someone to help us carry our luggage… burdens? Or someone to show us our future, our happily ever after. Not someone to show us how happy we could be.
We just need someone to be there. To smell the sweet scent of the same air. To share the silence of the night. To just be there.