Some people drown in the past. She didn't. She built a house at the bottom of it, furnished it with gone voices and broken promises and called it survival. The tragedy wasn't that she lost everything. The tragedy was that she remembered exactly what everything felt like. The weight of it. The warmth of it. And so she kept touching the scar just to feel the fraction of it. Letting go would have been mercy but she chose the cruelty of remembering because somewhere inside that ruined, dust-covered life, the girl she used to be was still smiling. So she kept returning to that same worn-out memory long after she woke up in the hospital, long after the wooden floors of the house that once was hers had warped and greyed and long after time had quietly turned her life to dust. Because letting go of that echo meant admitting there was nothing left of her to save.
Thanks @soluumis for the idea
