sO yoU KnoW wHo it iS. i LiKe iT

Everything is silent. One of those nights that stands out in the memory because of the tranquil receses of the mind that come foreward for seconds of clarity and tears of understanding. You can hear the paper from cigarettes burning with the inhale of smoke. A steady hand looks at the cigarette. Inquisitve, confused, and even a touch of acusing glare. Everyone looks around, not at anyone else. But you can tell their minds are on other people, even those who are sitting around them. But not one. He stares at his cigarette. His hands are worn. They have worked many days or at least it seems. The rings on his fingers are with purpose. Every detail exact, every scar a story, even the ones that you can't see. Uptight. The paper crackles in the consuming fire. Long eyelashes protect the piercing eyes from doing damage against that cigarette. Such contempt. The stars a painful reminder... Those hands have done amazing things. Bulit things from nothing, fixing things that were once broken, slapping sense into those who need it, holding hearts, and breaking them. Every scar a story... Takes another puff from his cigarette and the hair falls in his eyes. The world is a painful reminder of the mistakes he has made, the things he can't forgive, even of himself. Someone nervously flicks their lighter and no one moves. No one knows the story, no one thinks to ask. Even the people who have known you all your life can't understand what plauges your soul sometimes. Deep within, a scenario plays out. A million times and every solution is different, somehow fixing the ending, making things the way they should. And after the fantasy disappears into that cloud of smoke the real ending plays again and a silent tear falls. He doesn't look around to see if they noticed. He knows they haven't. No one cares to hear the stories of heartbreak these days. They are all too common. So much to learn and so much neglected. He has a secret, a past. Without anyone knowing, feeling anykind of change, on has taken place. In a room full of once best friends, they have fallen to themselves and forgotten to share the truth, the painful times, the good. In a time when they should stick together, they have let silence tear them apart. The history, the past, is with him all the time. He is good at wearing the mask he has created for himself, but beneath it, he is only hardend and is breaking alone. He inhales again. One of his friends notices his scars. She wants to know the truth, she wants to know the past. But she is afraid. Not of what she might learn, but that he won't tell her. Instead she sits in silence, another casualty of fear. One last intake from the cigarette and the last soud of paper leaves it. He puts it out. He looks at his hands. They have done much work, created many things, fixed things when they were broken, held hearts, and broken them. Every scar a story, even the ones you can't see. Do you see them in yourself? Can you tell the ones who care to know. Will you keep it all inside? Will they never understand? Will you never forgive? I'll let you. Forgive me. I only want to help. No, I don't want to help... I want to understand.