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Written During History

Most days I find myself laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with nothing to do, nothing on my mind. This is all pretty common for teenagers, granted, except that last part. There's always thoughts, feelings flowing through their mind as constant and reliable as the ocean's push and pull. And I have that rare day when I'll find myself thinking about school and friends and family, but most days my mind is a blank canvas. But there's nothing pure or light or hopeful about it. It's dark and vacant and terrifying because I've become so used to pain and betrayal and ruthless attacks on my very inner being that I have shut myself away from emotion. I am numb. I couldn't feel anger not sadness even if I tried. It's my own defense mechanism.
There are nights I find myself desperate for feeling; I run my fingers over the scars the past has left. My gentle touch sparks a stinging of the most vibrant of memories.
The scars you left are my favorite.



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