He still sees it when he looks in the mirror. The ugly redness never changes, never fades.
There was a time when he was younger and he believed that someday he would become so accustomed to the scar that he wouldn't see it. That someday it would stop mattering.
It never does.
He still sees the scar, but it looks different now. It feels different. Now he sees the first place his daughter's tiny, curious hands explored when she was old enough to sit. He feels Katara's feather-soft kiss on his ruined eyelid.
Nothing has changed, yet everything is different.