My past has always been a creeper. I'll think everything's okay, maybe I'll start the road to recovery soon, then my past stops by to remind me why I am the way I am today.
An ex boyfriend will appear and shatter my heart into a million pieces with the story of him falling in love with his friend, a girl whom I also called a friend.
A scar will become more prominent reassuring me of my failures.
Scar. Scars. Plural.
Lying in the bath, soapy water climbing over my body, eyes are drawn to the tracks left across my right.
My right leg, little white lines to haunt. Work your way up my body, these white lines creep around, tracing my bones, outlining my fat. Reassuring me of my failures. Each line owns its own story. Every glimpse I get I feel the pain all over again.
I am broken.
I have lost pieces along the journey.
I will never be whole again.
So what's the point?
Keep Holding On
