The other day, I scratched myself. Don’t really know how, the only evidence is the healing scar. I look at other scars and immediately recall their cause; jumping off a bike that, unbeknownst to me, had no brakes, the eyebrow scar that resulted in stitches because my cousin’s dog bit me and the cheek scar acquired when rolling down a hill in fun.
The scars have faded, but I’m aware of their presence. Some days, I look at myself and don’t readily see them. Other days, they’re the first point of focus. A scar is a reminder of pain from which you’ve come through the other side. Scars don’t define who you are. They’re evidence of what you’ve endured.