Scars

Everyone has them. Like that one on my pinky. Burned in place because, I tried to make macaroni and cheese by myself, when I was three. Everyone has them. Just like Julia. She slipped off the monkey bars in second grade. Landed flat on her face. Everyone has them. Like little kindergartners who embrace their super hero powers but still kind of need their training wheels. Or people, like me, who prefer to tumble all the way down the hill, rather than take the easy way and roller blade. Everyone has them. So why do they matter? They matter because scars are marks. Marks left in place that can’t be erased. The stories from scars, silently say everything. Just like the fact you can be replaced Even though the biggest scar in my life was torn by you. Because daughters need mothers to comfort and care. When I was little, I remember, Going on secret missions to steal the clothes that you would wear. Just wishing one day I could be, exactly like you. I guess I was lucky enough but losing you was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Everyone has them. But whether they are little or jagged or gaping like mine, each and every scar takes time to heal. And that’s why they matter.