2 Oct 2019

We Are 138 #38 - Scars

I skim my finger down your back, reading you like braille. I find the scars and I begin to read the stories again. A candelabra you once fell against. A rusty nail that pierced your skin. Down to your knee, a half moon from a gardening tool. Above that, the recent scar from an axe you stumbled on at work, laid like a lie in your flesh. And your knuckles, a fight in a nightclub, the imprint of another man’s tooth embedded in you along with his anger.

“I don’t have any scars” I say.

“Only mental ones,” you reply

And you pull a silly face.

I have read your body again. I have traced the places where your past has left footprints in your skin. One day, when you are ready, I will let you read mine.

Samantha Priestley, reader and writer of books, plays, stories and stuff. Find her on Instagram at @sampriestleybooks 

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