Do you have scars like that too?

Life is so funny. And so painful. I used to think of myself as an easy-to-heal soul, you know, the type that forgives easily, and forgets.
I still heal easily - on the surface that is. My skin heals quick and I have no scars, no matter how severe. But I am wrong in my assumption.
My heart has scars that wont dissappear. It is odd that the two scars that are prominent were brought on by similar circumstances, and by friends. The first was from a bossom friend who I loved deeply. I really felt for this babe. Don't get me wrong - I was not attracted to her, I just saw her as the sister I never had. I went out of my way to please her and help her. It wasn't that she was ill, or disabled or anything. In fact, she was and is a beauty - long legs, pretty smile, lovely figure. Around her, short, pudgy me was not self-conscious however. I felt at home with her. It didnt even matter that we were of different religions. All that mattered was her happiness. Our friendship stood the test of time and other people's jealousy, but it was destined to crack one day, and by something so flimsy, I still cannot believe that she actually believed I could say such a thing.
Well, it ended. I was bitter, sad, hurt and angry. Even when the truth came to light, I kept away. I had wrapped myself in a cocoon to heal.
Its been years, but even now, if I go visiting, her family still treat me like their own.
But everytime I read something about her on Facebook, or see something she gave me in my room (I refused to throw them away or hide them), I feel a pang in my heart. Why did it have to end that way? Maybe she didn't love me as much as I loved her? So many questions will remain unanswered.
The scar still pulses even now.
Then the second one was woken up tonight. I got through a shaky year three in the university with help from an angel. I found him on the internet - he's a math whiz, knows more than 14 programming languages and was alive during world war 2. He's a veteran, and has survived so many things. I admired him, and looked forward to hearing from him everytime. He's also a crazy man - one time he decided he was relocating to another state, but rather than fly he chose to go by road. That sounds alright until you read this - he reconstructed a bicycle and attached a trail of six black containers to the back with three wheels. He traveled for almost a month, slept on the road or in parks, and subsisted on little or no food. I had to plead with him to notify at least one member of his family (yes he has grand kids but is estranged from the family because he chose to live on the streets) before starting out, so in case something 'happens', they would know.
All was rosy until I made a mistake. A classmate of mine needed help for his project and his topic was something I was sure that my 'Grandad' (yeah that is what I called him then), could handle, so I introduced the 'mate, and told Grandad to please help.
That was the last I heard from Grandad.
By that time, he'd gotten an apartment, gotten a job, had a girlfriend he intended to marry, but something had happened to his back, so I was in 'caring' mode - checking on him with mails to make sure he was ok. We had gotten so close that he didnt feel any restraint in giving me his POBox address and number (I think I sent a card once sef). We even exchanged pictures.
Looking back, I wonder, what did I do wrong? He just up and refused to respond. I got frantic. Was he alive? Searching his name on the net said yes he was, and from the dates of his latest postings I could see he was still active. Was it my religion? He's a staunch atheist but I never pressured him to convert - the highest I did was tell him I was praying for his recovery. Was it my friend? It might have been, because Jide could have been a yahoo boy without my knowledge.
I will never know.
Grandad even wrote me a story, and sent it to me. It was sweet. The scar is still there and throbbing.
R and Kent Dolan - scars that refuse to fade and go away.
Do you have scars like that too?