Where the Scar Ends

The Story Begins

Where the Scar Ends, the Story Begins 
For the ones who read with their hands

You touched me
where the skin had stopped pretending
where the scar whispered
what the mouth never dared.

It wasn’t smooth.
It wasn’t soft.
But it was honest.
And you liked that.

You traced it like a map
to somewhere you’d never been
but always wanted to find
a place where pain
had learned to speak in pleasure.

I didn’t flinch.
I opened.
Not like a wound,
but like a door
that had waited
for the right knock.

You entered slowly,
not to heal,
but to understand.

And there,
where the scar ends,
the story began
not in silence,
but in breath,
in the language of want
that only ruins remember.