I used to think the scars on my body were special. A sign of the trials that I’ve overcome throughout the years. Each scar I could recall vividly the details that ended up giving me the scar. But now you’ve left me with so much scars that I can’t even recall with barely any detail of how each scar came to be. I just know it was you who gave them to me and it was me who let you. The only thing that they remind me of was how bad the hurt and forsaken feeling was. I guess it’s like when there is only 4 quarters you could tell them apart but when there is a whole jar of them they become jumbled and indistinguishable from one another except for their generalness.