My Sinisterhand

Often times I find myself in a situation that leaves me with a mark of remembrance. Whether it is at a point of struggle or an instance of pain, I recount the experience over and over again as I examine the mark. I inspect closely the disfigured and misshapen form that once was and I remember. Sometimes they are too painful to look upon at first, with floods of emotion and memories that I cannot control. Other times they stand as standards of victories and accomplishments that I recall warmly. Regardless, they are a part of me. I count my scars and understand that it is through pain that we are brought here and it will be through pain we leave. Yet, I believe it will not be an eternal pain. The departing pain is the price that must be paid. It will be collected. There is no other recompense. Yet, it is through these scars that I find my struggle and journey most rewarding when the sun sets and I fall into that cousin of death. I awake the next day with just a little less tenderness, but always the memory and learning still.