Friday, June 5, 2009

Bruises caressed

My fascination with scars extends deep. I stop at the little imperfections and examine them for the story they tell. The bumps, the healed cuts that represent what I want to know.
I need to hear the story the body will tell me. I need to know of the wounds that shaped the tiny lines at the corners of the mouth and eyes.
What happened here? What have you endured to stand in this place right now?
It's not enough to hear the laughter. I need to know the tears.
The light means nothing without the dark, and I want to drink it all.
I never ask too much; only everything.