Scars.

She traced her fingers around the marred patch of skin on his chest. "Tell me again, how you got your scar," she requested. Every time it was a different story, filled with actions of bravery and matters of life and death. She knew how he really got the scar- he had a severe heart condition when he was an infant. But she enjoyed the bizarre and vivid interpretations of what it could have been. Soon, he'd become her first scar.

Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, feeling the concave hole under his eye. "What did you do to get that scar?" she questioned. He looked at her sternly, a glimmer of playfulness in his eye. He made up an elaborate story of getting into a fight for defending his honor, all sorts of weaponry and fight skills used. How brave! The cut under his eye was the only thing we walked away with! It wasn't long before he confessed the truth of removing a cancerous mole. She preferred the other story, but she wouldn't let him know. He became her second scar.

They had been walking around aimlessly, talking of this and that, whether or not the subjects of their discussions was important. He was wearing shorts that day, and as he sat down, she saw the edge of the shiny fabricated skin right above his knee. "May I inquire as to what happened?" He chuckled, and spoke of an accident involving scalding olive oil burning his then eight year old legs. No wild or elaborate stories, just the simple truth. Unbeknownst to her, he became her final scar.

Almost three years later, she finds herself looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her naked body is smooth as marble, not a single mark in sight on the surface. Her eyes stared. They had changed, but how? Why is it that her eyes are so dark anymore, instead of the bright, happy, vibrant eyes they once were? There was no sign of this transition on the surface. Perhaps if she delved deeper. She then opened her chest to peer inside her own self, scanning, searching for the cause of this change. Why? Why was there this unspoken and inexplainable sadness in her eyes that she was so incapable of hiding from the rest of the world, no matter how strong her vain attempts became? Nothing seemed to be strange or out of place. She searched and searched, scrutinizing every little detail. She was about to give in and give up until- wait- something's not right. And there it was- what she had been looking for. Right there. Slightly to the left of the center, under her ribcage, three deep, shiny scars glistened in the light on the casing of her heart. Surrounding the scars were some scratches and some bruises, but those didn't hold any permanent effect. Scratches heal and bruises fade. Scars are eternal. And whether she liked it or not, she would have to live with these scars for eternity. She closed her chest and sewed the fabric together. She clothed her naked body, and walked away from the mirror with an altered glint in her eye.

At least she finally understood. Now it is not something that can hold her back.