A Scarred Soul Is A Beautiful Soul


We all call it falling. Because it fills us with the unexpected and easily flushed energy and desires. It helps us build images of ourselves in almost no time, making up castles and towers. We build them on the sand, as we haven’t got enough patience to wait for a more appropriate land. It gives us the impression of being powerful. Falling in love gives us the impression of being powerful. And when we fall, we can easily stand up and leave. Castles, towers? Sand will swallow it in an instant. That’s not love, after all. This wandering is infatuation, immature, insecure, unstable.

We are all so scared to let go of infatuation, and let love come instead. You know why? We survive infatuation with a few scratches; love operates differently. Love needs time and space, actually lots of time and space; like a baby it requires patience, right food, care. It would multiply, as a bacteria, and then would run throughout us, travelling as far as the veins would take it, to all kind of places within us.

Love will camp and make fire with our insecurities, will burn our confidence, will intensify the pain of previous losses and will make you grow. Painfully, slowly, certainly. It will use your inner energy as wood to make the fire and will keep you warm. Not safe, though. You will never feel safe again, as long as it camps within you. You will never be able to predict the possibility of wildfire, burnt skin or ashes. It will never be a waste of time, but love,

    Love will always leave scars.

It shall not leave without mutilating yourself and the other. It will make you feel a coward, it will push you to lay the cards on the table. Even if things shall not be working between the two of you, and one would leave, love may stay. Stay with a reason that only you can learn. In a week or in years. And will make you understand that it’s not the other who hurts you in love, it’s you yourself.

And if you let those scars, like tattoos, become part of your inner map, they would take you to newly paved roads and paths towards camps that were made within you. Camps that had to be built, maintained, cleaned up. Camps that left ashes and burnt your wild heart, softening it, hardening it, challenging it.

Some lessons are meant to beat hard. Some experiences are meant to change the colour of your hair or the smells of your autumn. And here you are again, walking until your feet are sore, and your heart is clean. The sun burnt your shoulders, the rain got you soaked wet, the salt messed up with your hair. But some things stayed the same.

You stayed the same.

Cristina Hiraeth is a linguist by education, storyteller by passion and lindy hopper by spirit.

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