Beneath The Surface

I stand in front of the mirror, tracing my fingers over healed scars, Each line a whisper of battles fought in silence, The scars that tell a story, an unspoken chronicle of pain and survival. My fingers trace the healed skin, each scar a reminder of the past, Where despair once lived, Moments that felt endless, yet somehow, I endured. Even though the scars on my arms have healed, have I? The surface is smooth, but beneath lies a maze of memories. I breathe deeply, accepting the journey, Understanding that healing is both visible and unseen. Each day, a step towards wholeness, A testament to the strength within, And the hope that guides me forward.