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The day you touched my scars

 I know you don't remember

the day you touched my scars.
You looked at them in pity and distaste
but not in disgust.
You gave a nod that said "you are a fool"
but not unlovable.
I was afraid your reaction might add more pain to them
but you touched it in a way they wanted to heal.
I was afraid they were going to push you away
but then you pulled me close.
You held me to your chest.
"Was it necessary?" you asked.
But your eyes knew better.
The way they looked at me, they did not need an answer.
We gave eachother our silence.
Our embrace.
And the cuts didn't matter anymore.

I know you don't remember the day you touched my scars,
but I play it in my mind everytime its your turn to be the fool.
I take my turn to do what you did that day.
Love, anyway.
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