Lately I've been rather... Pensive. I have found myself, to an extent against my will, locked in thought about the whys of the world. What's been the most surprising is the memories that I didn't realize I had locked away. Daily I'm confronted with a memory that I had caused myself to forget. Some of these memories have been painful, others frustrating, and others have brought on a joy and sadness of a time lost.
I've said that it is our experiences that shape us. Yet more and more I'm bewildered at how true that seems to be. I think about pain and frustration that I've had to endure, and it seems that it will never go away. That's what scars are though, aren't they? Scars are a reminder of what we love, the things that have caused us to bleed. I think about good things too, joy that I'm familiar with, but had forgotten how to find. It's the joy of being free, the joy of letting your heart stand vulnerable. The joy of loving and being loved.
That's what we all want, to be loved. We all desire the feeling you get when you stand exposed, your scars on display, and have someone else still love you. We all want someone to make us feel like we matter, we want someone to soothe our pain, and kiss the scars away. Our pain shapes us, and it teaches us what we really value.
Love is expensive. It costs us ourselves. It binds us to the will of others, and shackles our emotions to things we cannot control. Love is the most expensive free resource we have. We always seem to be able to make more of it. Truly loving others makes our hearts catch flame and start beating again, it makes us feel alive.
I know my story. I know my pain, and my scars, I know my joys and my laughter. Yet sometimes I don't know me, I don't know what I look like without scars. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's why we need other people, because they can look past the scars that we can't help but see. Sometimes all I can see of myself is what's broken, but people that love me see what can make me whole. Maybe other people allow us to cry, to dance, and to sing; because we can kiss their scars, and they can kiss ours.