"I don't like to talk about it."
"Where are those from?" she had asked.
We all have stories we don't like to tell.
The scars on my body reveal a history distant from my present reality, tucked discretely away to rest in peace. Forever.
A time not far in the past, where all I could think about was the future, and I was rarely present.
"Come on, I know everything about you."
Turns out she didn't, only thought she did.
But some things just wont stay hidden.
Just when you think your safe, they poke their dirty little head around the corner seeking to expose you.
"I don't want to talk about it."
Why wont it go away, I thought I buried it, along with the bleeding carcass of my former self.
Truth was, my past was still very much alive.
It would always be there, forever shaping who I would come to be.