Wounds

We all have or have had them. Some deep, some superficial. We carry them with us, in varying ways, as extra baggage. Usually inside, private, unshared. Wounds. Inflicted, self-inflicted. Accidental, intentional. Sometimes healed, a distant memory, other times open, festering. Once in awhile a wound is so deep, so insistent, that it preoccupies a whole life. Some can’t alter, alleviate, what has happened. Others actually encourage their continued presence as a badge, a reminder, as some dark motivator or excuse to justify certain behaviors. Best to allow them to heal, to be forgotten.