I pick at the scab. It is on my right knee, just above the kneecap. I start slowly at the edge, then peel a bit more, and stop. Fresh blood oozes. The metallic smell wafts, intoxicating me.
I fell while I was walking the other day. Embarrassed, I immediately stood up, collected myself and walked away. I didn’t notice the sting and the bloodstain until I lay on the bed. Now, I can’t help but fester the scar. I know it’s not good to touch it. It won’t heal as fast or nicely. It is a reminder of my mistake, my incompleteness, my reality, and I can’t stop picking on it.
I place the scab back on the wound as if to cover with a lid. Unpleasant moments and bitter memories are healing. Little by little.
For The Daily Post’s daily prompt: ” Scars“