Novelas y relatos de Quotes On Emotional Scars

he said and we went inside the mansion into his room. He made me sit on the bed and removed his t-shirt, he stood in front of me. he grabbed my hand pressed it against his naked chest. “Look,” he said, I did, as I look closely, I noticed a scar on his skin. “It’s a scar,” I whispered. As Nikolai has a scar on his body, I have a scar in my mind. The memory of Greyson’s death. Scars are what make us who we are. Everyone has scars…some are etched into skin, and some are burned into memory. Nobody moves through life without a scar slicing them in half.

"No, I don't think he needs anyone else as his partner, nor do I think you are any less deserving of him. Did you know Lexie, that not too long ago, scars were highly prized in our community?" I just blinked at him, and fortunately enough, he continued without waiting for my answer. "Scars are not just a sign of a life well- lived, but one's scars show that this person is a survivor. That they are stronger than whatever life could throw at them. So don't you ever think that the scars you carry because of your past make you any less worthy, instead, they indicate that you should be celebrated even more!

I wasn’t sure. "My papa used to say scars represent our past. Scars make us strong and powerful." A small smile played on her lips as she spoke. “He said if you see someone with scars, don’t underestimate them.” I swallowed, watching her intently. A comfortable numbness spread through my chest. "You're a good man sometimes… boss," she mumbled, her eyes searching mine. My brows furrowed. “Don’t judge me quickly, Iris,” I warned, my voice low. “Words can’t be taken back.”

His tone had its never changing deep seductive touch. I smiled back as brightly as I could. Quinn gave me a long stare then he dropped the food he was carrying and walked over to me. “My guess is you are admiring your combat souvenirs.” His fingers crawled up to touch my face. “Whatever you think is the problem with it… get it off your mind. Every scar on your body represents how hard you have tried to survive; to give your son a life. Get back at the man who ruined the first one you had. When you look at these... marks, I want you to be proud of them. Don't let them make you sad. There is nothing bad about them.

Flora looked off, lost in thought for a long, long time before she ever spoke again," I flash back my father saying to me,' Honor is not bestowed — it's earned with every scar, every immolation.' But I wonder, however, if I am fated to bear those scars, if every decision I make is just leading me further down a path of keeping a oath I noway swore." Vincent set his mug gently on the table." You see, I believe the scars define us. They're proof that we were there, that we survived. perhaps what you are searching for is not leaving your history behind, but to claim it — to use it to drive the person you want to be."

“You think scars make you strong. But scars only prove where you’ve already bled. And soon, you’ll bleed again.” Her nails scratched faintly against the glass. “I’ll see to it.”

Intensifying my desire and causing me to throb with anticipation; my arousal growing even more intense and my longing becoming increasingly evident. ‘She is ready to mate with us!’ Spartacus urges. ‘No, she is not prepared to take us yet. We need her relaxed and stretched out. So we don't hurt her when we finally get to knot her.” I groan. As I explore every inch of her skin, I tenderly kiss and caress each of her scars, proving to her that they do not define her. Instead, they are a testament to her strength and resilience. With each gentle touch, I am reminding her that she is beautiful and worthy of love, regardless of what battles she has faced. These scars are a part of her story, and I

It was old, but the pain it must have caused was evident. "It must have hurt," I murmured, my fingers tracing the raised edges of the scar. His body tensed, a flicker of fear in his eyes. I just felt like I could connect with him so much after seeing this. His scar was physical, but my own scars, though invisible, ran just as deep. I bent my head, pressing a soft kiss against the scarred flesh, a silent apology for the pain he had endured.

* * * Max’s POV * * * I wish I can say that over the years I have gotten used to people dying. I never have. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I care for dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter” either. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My pain and my scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even burned or lacerated, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger th

But here I was, cracked open by the softest touch and the quiet presence of the one person I never thought I’d trust. “It hurts,” I said, my voice a ragged whisper. I didn’t look at her, couldn’t. “I’ve been holding it in so long. I forgot what it’s like to say that out loud.” She didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, her voice tender and calm, like a balm itself. “It’s okay. Scars are meant to hurt.” Her fingers brushed my hand gently, reassuring. “You know, my grandma used to say… no medicine in the world could heal a scar better than love.”