You have always been questioned about your scars. You would sometimes give a laugh for an answer, for you know that even without your words they already have assumed answers on their head. And they look at you with curious eyes, not knowing that you can see through them. You can see their judgments, you can see their disgust, you can see their pity. Then, while you are gone, they talk as if they know you when they don’t, and they stab you silently with the stained glasses of your trust that they had broken.
What they don’t know is that you’re a fighter. With your own blood you cleanse their wrongs by ignoring them and living the best of what you can have.