I trace over the scratches engraving our skin.
In the dark, you look too much like me.
And your history flows seamlessly into my pain
And the thing we did not choose to be.
For we are those poor creatures covered in scars
That neither of us wants to see.
It only makes sense that you left in the dark;
In the light you might find someone whole.
And I pray, with the part of me that still believes,
You can patch up what's left of your soul.
But these scars of ours, Nina, don't fade in the day.
You won't get back the life that I stole.
