Hair does not grow on scars.
An unremarkable biological fact.
Until you realise
even the body knows better
than to cultivate forests over cemeteries.
People say
scars are proof that wounds heal.
No.
Scars are proof that wounds
are exceptionally good at leaving descendants.
They stop bleeding.
And still, they leave behind
a document written into flesh.
The body
has never resurrected a single thing
in its entire evolutionary career.
It does not restore.
It replaces.
It negotiates.
It bargains
with whatever remains.
Scar tissue is not healing.
It is the compensation
paid for something that cannot be returned.
My first scar wasn't earned.
It was issued.
My umbilical cord wasn't cut.
It was evicted.
The first home I ever knew
was the first place I was removed from.
Birth certificates are merely
official records of the original exile.
Hair does not return there.
Sweat does not return there.
The original architecture does not return.
How strangely respectful the body is.
It refuses to build apartments
over demolished homes.
It knows better than humans do.
Some ruins are not meant to be renovated.
They are meant to remain as evidence.
Touch a scar. It feels different.
Because it is.
You are not touching repaired skin.
You are touching the closest thing
the living possess to a fossil.
A place where extinction arrived,
did its work, and left behind a witness.
A grave that learned how to breathe.
Every nation has scars.
It calls them borders.
Every religion has scars.
It calls them scripture.
Every family has scars.
It calls them tradition.
Humanity has always possessed a remarkable talent:
turning injuries into identities.
History is what happens
when a scar learns how to reproduce.
Wars give birth to flags.
Massacres give birth to anthems.
Graves give birth to holidays.
The dead have always been
our most successful architects.
We build civilizations
over their absence
and call the construction progress.
The body, however, is less dishonest.
It never claims the original skin returned.
It never confuses a replacement with a resurrection.
It simply leaves the mark and continues.
Not healed. Not restored.
Just carrying the remains of what it could not save.
Perhaps that is why
hair never grows on scars.
Even biology understands
what humans spend centuries trying to escape.
Some places are not wounds anymore.
They are graveyards.
Some memories are not memories anymore.
They are heritage.
Some histories are not histories anymore.
They are weapons that learned
to call themselves culture.
Because a scar
is not the body saying: "I survived."
That is the story humans tell themselves
because it sounds better.
A scar is the body saying:
"Something happened here that was stronger than my ability to become what I was before."
And perhaps that is why we hate scars.
Not because they are ugly.
Because they are honest.
They do not forgive. They do not forget.
They do not rewrite the crime after the criminal has become a historian.
They simply remain.
The last witness who cannot be bribed.
And maybe,
after millions of years of evolution,
the body finally understood what humanity never did:
some things should not grow back.
Not because they cannot.
Because something already died there.
And the scar is the only thing left behind
that never learned how to lie.
