I have seen this: there is a scar insidious and hideous; and looking at it fills the heart with sorrow. stretched tight across the sternum, it’ not an mere blemish easily concealed. the bumpy blight was thick and tough, the cruel gift of a thousand cuts. it was numb and unfeeling, except from deepest wounds. underneath and around the edges, constant pain was a close companion of the calloused lesion. the tragedy wasn’t in the mark itself, or even in the vicious attacks that caused it. half healings gave birth to the sadness was below surface: a place where passion is choked, risk is relegated to careful calculation, and fear is the only light in the darkness.