Battle Scars (in the Form of Memories)

Nights like this are plagued with unwanted memories and wandering minds. I think about...

What I think about isn't important actually. I should be focusing on reality. In reality, I'm lying in bed embellished with the clean sheets straight from the wash - I can smell the fragrance of chemicals which so harshly attacks my olfactories (that's 'nose' to those of you who failed Biology in school). It's.comforting to know that they are sterile.

To my left, in this reality, is an open window which, in the height of summer, serves neither to cool nor to let the light in (because my room faces south). So 75% of the time, I am plunged into a stiflingly hot darkness.

To my right is, well, a wall which is just as blank as my imagination. It holds no photographs or memories of anything good or bad. All of these pictures and memories obly exist in my head, rightly so, because some of these memories should never be visualised or discussed.

In reality, I am a beaten individual who, by no stretch of the imagination, can be fixed. In reality, I bear the scars from other individuals and the scars I give myself. In your reality, however, I am okay, fine, doing alright etc. But in my reality, I can see how I am broken inside.