"How's the scar on your hand? Does it still bleed as much?"

You became flustered and told me not to worry, that the wound didn't bleed as much as it did before.

That was months ago.

I miss you and remember how much you liked this weather. When it rained, you always came by my side, wrapped us warmly into the blanket, and told me endless stories about your group members, family, and job.

Now and then, I look at my own hand just to be reminded that I don't have the scar, and then I become grateful that I don't have injuries or wounds like you.

But I realize, that I do. The scars are inside and though they cannot be seen, they can surely be felt.

I ask myself this question from time to time, as the days go by, and the seasons change.

"What hurts more? Yours or mine?"

Maybe it's just me, but my heart still bleeds the same.