I tend to get hurt a lot. I’m reckless, brash, and rough.

Yet fragile. Bruised knees, scraped hands, pricks on my fingers. Sometimes I think it will always be this way, that the marred skin and wounds will stay forever. That I will always ache and ache. Maybe it is the fault of this reckless heart that wants to know love, that only knows cliché endings and fractures into porcelain pieces. But flesh is flesh and there are blood and bones in this delicate body.

The body always finds a way to heal, scars and all.