As much as I don’t like the sound of it, it is a reminder
that everything heals over time.
It leaves a mark, yes. Like a calling card
Of memories that something was important,
Very important
Once.
The scar is sometimes lumpy, sometimes tough
and other times tender
To touch.
I have a few.
Sometimes my finger touches them,
In an absent minded remembrance
And I think, of the times, I didn’t think I could make it through
But I did.
And I have the scars to show for them. Like my life trophies
That Not only did I survive
I have stories of that survival to share, with those who will listen.
And remember the people and things that helped me heal
Time being one such friend.
As I touch them, I also remember, who I used to be
And how much I have changed in some ways
And remain the same in others.
And despite myself
I do feel proud of my journey
And the fact that, I have not felt the need to hide them
They are my personal mementoes
A special shared secret
Between me and someone or somethings.
And in the form of the scar the relationship continues..
bridging the once torn skin with one piece of art at a time.
Thankfully without scarring.
My scars are precious and beautiful
They remind me of how intensely I have chosen to live
And how lightly I can touch them
And I am grateful to and for all of them.
