Not with shame do I bear my scars nor with pride are they worn – each was earned on its own field and I owe them what I’ve sworn. Some long faded still ache at times, less of the flesh and more in the soul; those the deepest were wrought in the storms between you and I and remind me I am old. Those on the surface betray the secrets so carefully hidden beneath the skin; they crack and they bleed and echo the cries of a thousand nightmares mirroring my sins. My scars I’ll keep to remember me by as I wither and my spirit fades; I wear them with joy at having lived and loved, thankful for the pain.
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