The Scar We Never Talk About

It’s not on skin, but somewhere deeper— buried beneath smiles we rehearse in mirrors. A silent bruise, left by words never said, moments never shared, goodbyes that came too early. It lingers in quiet rooms, echoes in familiar songs, tugs at your heart when no one’s watching. We laugh louder now, walk straighter, act like healing is a straight line forward. But some wounds don’t bleed or ache— they simply stay, a part of who we become. So we dress them in metaphors and memories, pretend we’ve forgotten, but trace them in poetry. Because the scar we never talk about is the one we carry like a shadow— always behind, always ours.