A Scar Never Disappears

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She was crying. She could feel the sudden rush of tears stroll down her face, as the image she held in front of her eyes became blurry. At this point the whole world came crashing down at her feet, everything she had hoped for, the perfect picture she had crystallized in her mind shattered into a million pieces. She knew that nothing could prevent this from happening, she knew she could never replace what she had lost. She buried her face into her hands, now cold from the rain outside, and kept crying. She sat on the hard stone steps in the front of her house, dreaming of what could have been. She was left there, crying.

They say the best things in life are free, they never mention you do not pay for the worst things to happen to you on purpose. They never mention how a single moment in your life, even at a young age, can define who you are and what you become. She did not know this beforehand, yet she had experienced it. She had always been alone, not raised, but forced, to be independent; who else could she rely on? And she knew, when she cried every night, no one would hear her, no one would understand. She was left there alone, crying.

Every night the same horrifying image passed through her mind. The thing was she did not know why or if it was real. They say some children block some of their traumatizing moments out of their head, she did not have the whole situation recorded in hers. But she knew, she felt it. She felt the gaze on her every summer when they opened the door, she felt the fear every night when she turned off the lights. She knew, no one else did but her and him. What could she do? Would saying the truth ruin the life of everybody else, this question was the one that bombarded her the most. And so she did not talk, she did not show any one a sign. But she never left secure again, never trusted any one again. And still, she was left all alone, with this burden on her mind, crying.

The years passed, but the memories never fade. She did not tell one person, but of course who would have helped either way? She went on, smiling to everyone in front of her, laughing for everyone who could hear, holding her head up so no one could tell how hard she had fallen. She was just a child, although quite nature for her age. And the parents gleamed at the prize before them, while everyone exclaimed at how perfect she was. And she agreed, and she smiled, and she talked. However, in the back of her mind the same horrifying image flashed, but she held on. Not until she slipped into her covers at the end of day, surrounded by the darkness outside, she was left alone, with the pressure of the world above her head, crying.

Then she grew up. Now she had mastered the technique of showing her public what they wanted to see. Her smile never faded, her perfection never skipped a moment, and she thought she could keep doing this for the rest of her life. Then she fell in love, and she fell hard. She let everything go, she let everything in her life run free. She went by the feeling in her heart, not the diction of her mind. She forgot for a moment, she lived for a time. But then the love faded, and the image came back. And she was forced to confront what had happened, to accept it was true. Because now she knew how it felt to be loved, she was strong enough to admit she was vulnerable. After all she was just a little girl, and no one else had protected her. So the image of the hand, belonging to a man she had trusted, of her own blood, faded. And even though it had once created a shadow over everything in her life, she pushed the hand away this time. And now she sat on the hard stone steps on front of her house, with her face buried into her cold hands, and she cried because she could move on now. And she was left there crying for the last time, and then she got up and wiped the last fallen tears from her cheeks and she stood. She was left there alone again, but this time she was left smiling.





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