Let's Start With The Details, Then Hit The Basics

Chapter One -

I've always had this affiliation with bruises, or some kind of physical scarring. To me it shows everyone around you you spent your life doing something, or spent your life getting abused, or spent your life just fucking living.
I've always thought that any kind of physical scar is one of the most attractive things on a person.
I'm pretty positive I don't like what most people like. I'm pretty positive that I'm a little different, but if that makes me the same, then I don't know what I am.
I think that in the grand scheme of things, you really don't need to know what I am.
You just need a few scars, a few bruises, a few pockmarks just to show people, yeah, I may not know what I am, but I know what the fuck I did and I know I fucking loved it.

I got my first scar of real consequence in kindergarten. I was in the bathroom, waiting for the big stall (the handicap stall, as you may call it) and probably thinking of fucking ponies. I was leaning against the heater, sitting down, cause that's not gross at all, and it fucking stung.
That's one of the best things I've felt.
It fucking stung. I remember looking at my arm and walking to my classroom, I was in KE, and I held up my arm and pointed at the burn, which was turning red and bleeding and cracking a little bit already. I didn't cry.
The scar isn't there anymore, but I know I lived it.
When our memory fails us, what'll be there to remind us?

Even now, I have random scratches and cuts and bruises all over me and when people ask where they're from, I can honestly say, "I don't know."

When our scars fail us, what'll be there to remind us?