“Scars are memory. Like sutures. They stitch the past to me.”

“Needle and thread flesh and boneSpit and sinew, heartbreak is home.Your suture lines, they sparkle like diamondsBright stars to light my confinement“Stitch,”

“You really need stitches," she tells me."Or you're going to have a scar." I try not to laugh. Stitches aren't going to help. They fix skin, cuts, wounds, heal stuff on the outside. Everything broken with me is on the inside. "I can handle scars, especially one's on the outside.”

“Scars are just another kind of memory.”

“You may forsake a person, a family, some location of the heart, but scars and memories cannot be discarded like used clothing.”

“I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.”