Souvenirs

Snow falling all around me, covering the harsh reality of the concrete world below. The soft blanket look of it is all lies. I reach out and touch, cold, cold as the wind that bites me, cold as the air that burns my lungs, cold as my heart is now. I thought that the night will cover me over. I thought that the could will wipe away the scars on my soul. The wounds, though hidden for a moment, are still there, and soon in the harsh light of day they will be seen again. I should have listened to my instincts, I should have ran into the night where nothing but the stars could see me. But it is too late for that. There is no turning back now. The damage has been done. Scars are just souvenirs you never lose.