To bask in.

If there were any outward sign of committed religious vocation, that flowers—the trees, all plants, yearn for and face the sun, not one another. There is nothing more devoted to receiving grace than petals turned upward toward the light.

And history is love.

The greatest thing about having your heart torn in pieces is the beautiful stitch marks that lace over and accentuate its story, and hold it back together. These flaws, these mistakes, or giving too freely—to remember why, and how or who and when.

Scars are a beautiful thing.

OOPS

I forgot exactly how vulnerable baring your soul can make you.

Tally up another scar.