I still feel pain every time I see all the scars in my body, both fresh and fading. I can still see how I got each one of them, who did it, who caused it — it still haunts me.

I think it always will...until I'm am no longer.

I think that's what you're missing. Each of your actions leave a different blow. Each harsh word leaves an invisible wound. Each dark memory engraved will have an impact in every thought and action.

Despite the underlying good intentions, if the deed is done with ill hands, the gesture will always be futile.

When you told everyone to leave, I started to sob on my spot — it was also the first time I witnessed you dismiss everybody else.

Which is why I also did what I've never done for the first time. You stood there watching me cry — lost, wounded, ugly.

You then took out a handkerchief when I started to stand up from the ground and offered it to me with a look I've never seen you wear before.

I took a step back. And asked you.

"Why are you so cruel?"

"Because this is how my life has turned out." You stared at me, but your eyes never met mine. You turned away. "But these days I've been thinking about how much I hate you...if I still do."

Did the truth finally reach you?

"So why did you listen to them?"

You smiled. A sad smile. A broken smile, a face that resembles mine.

"Because I am weaker."