Old scars

I don’t know why you always have that effect on me.

Why do you always make me think about all the good times we shared and how you were so nice to me and I took you for granted which made you leave.

And c’mon it’s been at least 3 years now and yet I still have no freaking idea how to put you down. How to put you in the past where you belong. How to stop thinking about you basically.

I find myself just letting other boys know about your existence. Bout how nice you were but at the same time your crazy side. But how I miss that. I haven’t met another boy whom treated me as well as you did. 

How you changed my life, my personality, my actions and my thoughts. You had such a strong influence on my life that it has been so hard to let you go. 

Yet, you probably have forgotten about me. About us. About what we used to do. I can’t help but feel sad. Like if we were to walk pass each other on the streets, we would be complete strangers. I would have to hold back the urge to welcome you with open arms. 

Old scars start to resurface whenever I mention about you. The scabs on my heart were picked on that it hurt as it bled internally. It’s so painful to watch you with another girl. A younger girl, our junior. 

Like how did that even happen? 

I miss us. I really do. Despite all the shit we’ve been through, how you made me cry before I go to bed every night, I would probably give everything to go back in time and change things.

Perhaps give us a chance. A chance to be in a r/s despite our racial differences. Cause boy, I never stopped loving you after all these years.

But these old scars gotta go. They got to start fading. To be buried deep under the new skin cells that generated. 

But scars are scars. No matter how long time has pass, it will always be there. It’s just a matter of whether we are able to conceal it better than others or not.



A girl from the tiny red dot. Writes when she feels like it - usually more personal rants and thoughts Really wants to broaden her horizon and experience the world but hates leaving the comforts of her home. The irony.

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