New Writing:

The scar often travelled around his face, sliding from cheek to cheek. He never really knew where it would be. He would wake in the morning, face the mirror, and it would have shifted again. One day jawline, next day brow. Never changed shape though - always a heart-shaped scar, and never changed its colour - always the angriest of deep pinks. He often joked with himself: others wear their heart on their sleeve. Me, I always wear it on  my face...always.