Unsaid

A few months back I met this Beautiful Soul.

Purest than any soul I ever met. Smile broader than the horizon of the Earth. Laughter melodious than the falling pearls. Eyes speaking a thousand words per blink.

-

And we were talking. Good and Bad. Jokes and Pranks. Discussing past and Future.

And then I saw her wrist. Most beautiful, kind of those used for modern day advertisement. And Lines. The kind which is called scars. Artificially crafted on most inappropriate canvas. I knew those lines. Had seen few.

She used Knife, not blade. To slit. Little Amateur, yet deep enough to bleed enough.

And then she tried hiding it. Half covered. But I was not looking at those scars anymore. I knew she would feel uncomfortable, so I switched topics half stuck in thoughts.

How things pass and memories stay.

Wounds heal and scars never fade.

I never Asked her what happened and why?

But she did thank me for not asking.

Some stories are better Unsaid. ❤