Yet, there is an odd thing about a scar.... it is a place where an injury occurred, yet it has healed. At least on the outside.
Now, I think upon the concept of the sore; of the phrase "opening a sore wound". Unhealed, barely scabbed over, aching, bleeding, frustrating and hobbling. So many of us have wounds that do not heal, that do not even give us the merit of showing scars, only weeping wounds that will just not leave us be. The tragedy upon all of that, it seems like scars are so evident where the seemingly more evident wounds would be easily seen yet are not. They hide, behind small corners, shadows, little small smiles and ineffective laughs, yet the persist. Staying closed until odd moments seem to bring them to the surface to be all but intolerably painful.
I am fortunate to have certain things scarred over and, if ugly, at least acceptable. They are memories of pain, yet no longer painful in themselves. And, like all of us, I have my wounds. I try to keep those covered. Every now and again, I peek, but mere acknowledgement comes with its own trauma.
I tell you this to speak about my choices of living alone. I choose that rather than let people close to me. I know it. I even have a good feel for why. Such is my life. And yet, every now and again a phrase hits me, and I realize that it still hurts.
I mentioned in a response to an earlier comment that I had seen a great show on PBS. http://www.anyoneandeveryone.com In that show, there were a few stories that had me empathizing and feeling their pain, even their hope and joy. And, in some, I felt the words strike deep to my soul. One of those phrases went sort of like this: 'Everyone needs someone to love - Someone to share the popcorn while watching a movie; Someone to wait with them as they see the doctor; Someone to pick them up at the airport, greeting them with a smile and a 'welcome home'.'
I don't honestly know what my future will bring. I like living alone, and I understand that in part it is to avoid opening those sores that seem to weep and bleed upon investigation but otherwise seem quite healed and scarred over nicely. I like that I come home and my dog is so happy to see me, loves to cuddle with me, be part of my family. Will I ever have anyone else? I don't know. For that matter, I don't even know if the dog will allow anyone else on the bed - there are times she barely allows me!
Past injuries ought to be in the past. Passed. Gone. Yet, hobbled and frustrated, pains come back to all of us, I guess. Still, there is hope, still there is life. Here's to life, hope and change.