You Broke My Heart

and not for the reason you think.

You aren't the first to ask about my scars, and you certainly won't be the last. But to this day you are the only one who's asked if I plan on adding to the collection. I didn’t answer. You jumped at my hesitation, offering your support, your advice, your time. You healed my heart when you called my scars beautiful, but you broke it when you showed me your own.

 

You broke my heart. Knowing you were in so much pain that you had to wear it on the outside makes me feel emotions so terrible I did not know they could even be felt. I feel guilty for being comforted by knowing that you’ve been in my shoes. I feel unworthy of your attention, let alone your affection. I feel powerless. I feel pain. I feel, I feel, I feel…

 

How did you feel as you etched tally marks into your arm? As you carved into whatever was left of you, did you cry? Did you scream? Or did you sit there as untroubled and still as you are at this very moment?

 

I wonder if you knew that those scars would last longer than the pain you felt. Would you still have done it? I wonder if it still hurts somewhere in the back of your mind every time you remember that they are there. They aren’t even on my body but it hurts more to know about them than it does to make more of my own.

 

 

 

 

I hope that they helped you through your pain, because now they are my pain.