Reminding us of the time something got the best of us.
A cool scar lived on her inner left ankle from the time the chest of drawers kissed her. Trying to do a cartwheel to a fast song in an itty bitty, tiny, little boarding room.
That is a happy scar.
The basketball got the best of him. It tricked him into fighting another man’s elbow.
Remember the pain of asking, “Daddy, I was wondering if…?”
Whatever the silly, young request met with an indignant “NO”.
Like flies swarming poop.
Scars are little alarm clocks, “Hey, get up!! It looks like you are about to take an old road!!!”
© 2016 Lauren Fitzgerald