Dearest

Do you love my scars?

I ask him this in the dark of the night, where there is no way for him to see the old wounds on my skin.

While his fingers run over my body, I am sure he can feel the risen tissue of the stories my flesh has to tell him.

We lay there in silence, and insecurity takes over my being as he reads the braille engraved on my skin.

I am sure that at one point we were complete strangers. But our eyes flashing across the room was enough to bring us together tonight. Morning is imminent, but the next day may bring a silence to this room that no amount of music will be able to overcome.

Wonder beats within my heart, wishing I could hear the thoughts in his mind. These scars… I can’t remember them all.

I know from a few, I tripped and fell, and perhaps was scathed by the solid earth. Others? Yes, they were inflicted by myself. And still more, more that he could not feel on the surface.

Yes, even deeper still, there were scars on my heart and scars in my mind. While his fingers traveled the ones that would be visible in daylight, he would never see those that I hid within me.

But more importantly, will you question these marks that I bare for all the world to see? Or will you be content with knowing that as a human, I so easily scar and bruise, but my heart still beats strong in my chest.

I regenerate, I continue. Blood does flow, but also it coagulates to create a sealed wound. Eventually, that skin will harden, and while it will be new, it may be clear that it was once cut or lacerated.

So I ask you, my dearest, do you accept this? Do you accept the scars that I bare, beneath your gorgeous eyes, afraid that you will reject what I am?

Of course you do, for I know that you have your own as well.

I touch your soft skin, and eventually I feel what you have hidden from me in the dark.

You shall heal as well; do you know this?