They are the only ones that are broken. I am the only one who can fix them. Two damaged legs with scars healed and bruises at the knees like a fresh fall. Two who shouldn’t be broken but are scattered on the hospital bed. Two injuries, victims of the tree they had hit. From the top of the hill, my mom could see and hear the snap.
Their memories are hidden within the scars sowed into them deeply. They flinch every time there is a big snow storm or crush of the snow underneath snow boots. They were brought up with pictures in old boxes and hung up for everyone to see the memories stuck in between the scars that hold me up. This is their life now.
They thrive on weakness. Each scar holds up strength, so one bad look at it. They squirm in delight. They rip the scars open to create the same pain.
When I have had enough pain, I make them disappear back into the scars they created. I am strong, so they won’t feed off me anymore. Two who needed me to heal them back together. Two damaged and remembered who they were before. Two whose scars remain, but hidden from the rest of the world, now shines in the most awful times.