Behind the scars: Beautiful and broken.

These bubbles of confusion and longing that are churning up from some hidden corner of my soul, they leave me craving for a remedy. I'm broken, you see. These wide crevasses on the canvas of my heart have veiled themselves from the world. A spotless blank parchment is all they see. Who wants to examine the small gaps that the fake layer of clarity veils? How will they? No one looks at it from close enough. Some did and it horrified them, you know. The hideous nature of the scar, the ever so repelling  rotten tissues of broken dreams? A doctor's medicine didn't help. 

"I'm afraid, madame. The wounds are too deep. They'll never heal." through sea shells I heard the shipwrecked man whispering my fate. He was a doctor, some said. 

"Isn't there a remedy? A cure? Anything?" I questioned, a gush of cold wave hitting my legs. 

"There is. There is. Plastic surgery."

And so it was. A thin layer of flesh and the ever so ignorant world would forget that it ever happened. I won't blame them because until recently I had convinced myself that it had. Oh god bless my delusional self. But then the canvas started to wear off. How could it not? What except the great wall of china will not succumb to the constant wear and tear, constant disappointment, constant rejection? Not a heart, atleast. Not mine, atleast. 

I thought it had healed. Then I took a closer look. And I was no longer astonished why the scars drove away the onlookers. I realized that the scars are too prominent now and even though the world cannot see it, I feel the paws of the injury clawing deeper into my heart with each passing day, I can see them peeping through the small crevasses in the canvas and its not long until they will be gaping at everyone with wide eyes. 

I am afraid, I am no longer beautiful from within. A life time ago, when you were here, that was all that mattered. I never let the insecurity of not being the prettiest take over me. But now, I am losing my inner beauty, as you called it. And I'm afraid that before I meet you I would have turned into a hideous monster and you will not recognize my anymore. You won't even recognize which of the innumerous scars were gifted by you. I'll never heal, I am afraid. I have always been this way. 

I take a deep breath and let time play its last cards. As I close my ragged eyes, I see you standing on the shore with me, our laughters echoing through sea shells, whispering to each other for help. The warm waves touch our feat, the sun shimmers on the wide expanse of water, my scars are wide open, but they don't repel you. You are not horrified. You instead stand there looking at me, and it is like we are meeting for the first time. The scars will never heal, I know. But as long as you are here, there is something extremely beautiful about the way they stare at you, compassionately, the way your glance soothes them. I don't mind being a wreck, I don't mind being broken. As long as you believe that my scars do not define me,That scars are beautiful and so are the stories behind them.