Scars carry lessons we learnt through bleeding wounds. They mark the times and places the clock had momentarily stopped ticking.

'We’re always fighting.'

On that cold night of December, he hadn't wrapped his arms around me with a gentle hand rubbing at my back while I cried. Instead, he had stood at the soil of my door, luggage packed with his belongings. And I knew that this time, he would be leaving for good.

'And you never listen.'

My body had been aching, shattering under a pain that even my pride was unable to fight. I had to tell him to stay. That I needed him to stay.

But not a word had come out of my lips. 

I had taken refugee in my own anger once more. Like the coward I always had been.

And without a word or a touch, he had left.

For the first time in forever, I had to lie on the mattress alone.

“Chanyeol.”

While crying out his name.

That night I realized regrets were scars too.

note.

Prompt/inspiration: regret. 

wrote it as an exercise.