Scars

‘’Can I see them?’’, I asked.

You looked away.

We sat in silence. Gradually, your eyes met mine and you hesitantly pulled up your sleeves in diligence.

You looked terrified, embarrassed and were suppressing your tears. As if I, of all people, would ever judge your fears.

I promised you I wouldn’t cry.

I promised myself to really try.

I saw your scars. There were some that looked fresh. I could tell by their color; Some were in different shades of brown. Others were dark red.

Your breathing turned heavy as I gently traced them with my fingers.

I wondered which scars were a result of which emotions; Which ones were your first ones and which emotions still eagerly linger.

I took your wrists and, without a thought, kissed them; They are the symbol of freedom and ability.

I moved along to your left breast and delicately pressed my lips against it; It is the layer that is over your heart - the symbol of life and humanity.

I found your lips and brushed them against mine; They are the symbol of a pathway to being acknowledged and heard.

I finally reached your forehead and planted a last kiss; It is the symbol of knowledge and wisdom - traits that make tyrants churn.

You surrendered to emotion and let your tears freely fall.

I took your hand in mine and began singing the lullaby of the brave; the ones who had nothing but found meaning in risking it all.
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