Scar is an ugly word. Often for an ugly thing. When I'm in a poetic frame of mind, I think they're markers of various kinds of sins that go before a fall. Let me tell you about three of my markers.
Pride left the first mark.
Envy the next.
Vanity the final, deepest one.
In the process of getting some of those scars, I'd tasted failure. I'd eaten crow. I can't say that I mind, considering what happened. I got lucky.
I lived.
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