I am sitting here, in his wifebeater, thinking. Not thinking about anything in particular, but just thinking. I have had trouble sleeping lately. I feel a little sick today, figures. I dont want to go back to school. The breeze comes in through my window, onto my skin. I probobly want to forget most things. I have always said that, that I would rather not remember. I am probobly blocking all of those memories. I dont want to feel it again, I dont want to see it, I dont want to... ... remember. Alot of shit happened. I just want to believe that I had a good life so far, that I hadnt been scarred, broken. I am lieing to myself. "...our scars remind us that the past is real." ... Her dark eyes watched as they took her naive body. She knew it was wrong. Rough hands and the eyes of demons are vividly branded on her soul. She would never be the same. It had happened before, "innocent" childhood play led the girl to eternal guilt. Misery reigns deep within her heart, the pain is desensitized. She felt nothing on the outside, but on the inside she was torn apart. The scars held everything in, suffocating and twisting her. She ran away from everything, hiding in the dark corners of a fake smile. Her spirit was dieing within her. Her fears strangled the soul, her lies bruised, her memories where buried deep like daggers. The soul could barely breath, blood pouring from its many wounds, dripping out its mouth. It lay curled there, eyes wide open. Then love came. The harsh burning love that cut through calluses. It found the edge of the spirit. Now it was exposed, but not the lies, not the secret daggers, not the fears. They stayed. She felt warmer, with the sun finaly pouring onto her soul. But the soul did not stop hurting. Love surrounded it, took over her cold body. It painfully pulled out the daggers, fended off the beating lies, comforted her in her fears. And now the soul slowly recovers. Her dark eyes cry silently, amazed at the warmth, remembering the past. She is becoming stronger, but still clings to love. She learned from her mistakes. She learned of the world, and of life. She experienced the searing cold of hate and real pain. She is stronger? Yet she cries. Some things are harder to get over than others. ...