We carry scars from what we’ve lived, where we’ve been and what we’ve done. These scars tell our stories, for it isn’t one story that makes up our lives, but a combination of stories.
We have stories of playgrounds and friendships, and scars that go along with those stories. We’ve bumped and bruised our knees, our arms, our faces, our hearts and our souls. We have stories of teenage hardships and heartbreak, scars of anticipation turned into disappointment, of hopes and dreams turned into nightmares. We have stories of family arguments and problems, stories of tears and sadness. With those stories come the scars with the pain and the itch, the burning and irritation.
But we don’t only carry scars. We carry band aids and disinfectant and mommy’s kisses that make everything better. We carry band aids of understanding, of listening, and of nurturing. We carry band aids that smell like grandmother’s cooking, that sound like the laughter of mom, that feel like our sisters, and taste like the kisses of those we love.
We carry the scars and the band aids, we carry the hurt and the healing, we carry the tears and the laughter. We carry it all, all in our hearts.
“But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget.”
-Time O’Brien, The Things They Carried