For Rent...

There was a moment last week, when I questioned my mortality. It was an abnormal reading of a normal test that ultimately turned out to be...nothing.

But for a few days...I thought...what if?

And then I thought...this body isn't even mine. It's been loaned to me in good faith by something bigger than I could ever fathom. Something bigger than I've ever had the faith to believe.

I am a renter. Of this life and this body. And I thought...

What will be seen when all the chips are cashed in? All the lights turned low and the orchestra is swelling in one final, glorious encore. When I turn this body back in...completely changed from the moment it was given to me. What will it look like? Some answers I have and some will come with time...as life takes its toll on this ramshackle rental. Held together with grit and glue. Too much chardonnay and not enough sleep.

Maybe I'll get a chance to stand outside of myself and look at "her".  Who was she?

And she'll laugh...at that ridiculous tattoo. She was 18 when she imprinted her body with rebellion. Over time the colors faded and the image stretched and pulled with the life of someone else. Two "someone elses". Two...who...want an explanation for that ridiculous tattoo.

And her fingers will trace, lovingly, that scar. Deep and crooked. Two lives wrenched free from the grip of her...and sewn back hastily. It is a battle wound. She wears it like a badge of honor. Because it is.

And that other scar...above her lip. From the day she dove headfirst into her parent's dresser and truly felt the safety of her mother's arms. Boys would point out that scar for years and she would always be reminded of...her mother.

And those legs...worn smooth from those girls ever growing bodies.
And those lips...kissed by true love.

And that life...rented...but owned...
...and loved...