Old Wounds, Newly Made
Old Wounds, Newly Made: Scars as deep as plough runs, stretched across his body, carved as bitter spirals from his hard shins to his worn face. 'Old wounds, newly made' he murmured as he stood wavering in the half light of the room. Morning hadn't yet arrived, but he was awake, as was I, the night had already gone. 'Old wounds' I whispered from the bed. 'Newly made.'
