People all around me are hiding their scars. But how can we not see them? Are we really that naive? How can we think everyone has great lives, without razor blades, without blood stains? She lifted up her sleeve, to present a line of marks. Scars that never healed. ‘No big deal.’ That’s what she said, like pain was something average. Like breathing, eating, sleeping. It seems almost normal, since I’ve seen more hidden scars, then smooth untouched arms.