Scars

Funny how that works. It's been weeks since I've written anything. Way too busy. I've been getting far too much done. And then, as it often happens, life spoke up and said "guess what, well, you're taking a break". So here I am, on the back side of minor surgery, taking my percocet and taking a break.

It seems that now, all the troublesome things, I can never quite find the words to express are gone and I am left with my voice. Like clearing your throat and finding your voice and having nothing in the way to stop you.

It's not bad. These changes. Even these scars. They aren't bad. They are just changes. There are some things I wish could have never ended, but nothing never ends. Nothing is forever. Except forever, of course. And that doesn't quite fit in with my human framework.

I have tiny scars now. Different and deeper and newer than those from my pregnancies. No one but my husband will ever see and I accepted long ago that he honestly doesn't mind the changes in my body. He won't mind these either. But they are there and they are proof that time marches on. Part of growing up. Part of growing old.

Blood pressure cuffs, perscription bottles and scars. And looking into each others eyes and seeing whats behind them, more than whats in front of them.