Questions with no answers

 When the wounds run deep- deeper then cracked scars allow-and the blood spills over, will you see me then?  Will you see me then?  Will you remember carving those intricate scars, tracing the delicate wounds into patterns on my heart and mind?  If I remind you, would you see, or would you just overlook, like you do now?  What if I told you they mattered, the words so carelessly spoken?  Would you care then?  What if I told you the scars weren't dead yet?  Because they are not.  The scars are not dead.  They still glow as they did when you first scratched them.  They are learning how to heal themselves because you won't take the time or maybe you just don't know how to restore them.  And I pray to God that you see and understand.  Not for me, but for you.  Would you listen to me then?  Because I want you to know that as much as I don't always show it, I love you.  And I want to know you love me too.  Not because you have to, but because of who I am.  Would you show me love then?  Would you show me love then?

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