I saw a friend of mine for the first time in maybe 3 years. He hugged me and held my hands in his, then he casually looked down at both of my wrists and hugged me again. It was subtle and if it were anyone else they may not have even noticed… but I did.
It was kind of sad really. To think that no matter how much time passes people may always worry about me and the things I used to do.
To think that he’ll never forget the broken, wounded girl I once was.
To think that there was a time when he would have looked down and seen healing wounds. Wounds given to myself because at least that was a pain I could control. A pain I could see.
A pain that was not only given to me, but belonged to me.