Scar

I run my hand over the old scar, gently

It has healed nicely, I muse

It could have gone either way

The scar sees me and smiles

It is curved, a bit. And a bit thick.

It thinks it knows me well

But how can the scar know

of what it was like

before it came?

 

 

Before it became

a part of me, there was still a smile

It resided in many places

Soft, innocent and knowing

It denied the times that had come before

And the times that would come again

Bringing fresh scars

And new smiles,

laid on thick.

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