Scars. White scars.

Old scars. Straight lines.

Thirty of them, about.

Upper arm; shoulder to elbow.

I suddenly understood;

There was a reason he only wore long sleeves.

I was sitting on his lap.

It was raining. My car windows were fogging.

I was eating a cheeseburger

And lovingly stroking his arm.

It wasn't something I was supposed to see.

I wasn't supposed to run into him

While he was wearing his work out clothes.

But there we were.

Chance brought my fairly new boyfriend

to meet me in our high school parking lot.

And chance showed me his scars.

I always thought cutting was a myth;

something attention seekers talked about,

Something like that.

But the people who have real problems

Don't talk about it.

He didn't talk about it. He wasn't proud of it.

I didn't press...but I knew I would eventually.

I was dumbfounded. 

All of this time, I thought I was the unstable one.

The broken beauty with a gallant knight to repair her.

It dawned on me. 

He needed me more.

The odd thing was; it made me love him.

It was a weird feeling.

Scars.

My recently new boyfriend

Puts a face to the myth.

And I think I finally understand.

We indulged in some ketchup kisses.

Suddenly I loved him.  

Scars.

Sudden meaningful kissing he didn't understand.

He still loved it.

Scars.

He hates the taste of ketchup.

Scars.

And suddenly, I'm in love.

Scars.

Honey.

You don't need to hide your scars.

For some reason, they make me love you.