kintsugi.

I will never forget the day

I first noticed,

The jagged white lines,

Etched unto the surfaces of your skin.

I was young,

Still in primary school, perhaps…

And in my youthful innocence I asked,

What were they? How did you get them?

And you spun me a story of how you were working in a building,

Whilst leaning upon a glass frame, your arms fell through and with it so did you,

And the shards tore the tissue in your arms

And left you with those permanent scars..

I noticed the glimmer in your eye as you spoke -

The forming of a tear,

Reflecting the bronze glow of the sun as it peered through your windowsill,

Casting rays of gold upon the blank walls and faces..

I will never forget

The way those scars looked through the eyes of a younger self -

The way they danced, like the scales of a koi fish,

Twirling amidst a sea of light,

Silver, shimmering rays,

Like slug trails -

Reminiscent of "kintsugi",

The Japanese art of repairing that which is broken,

With a golden glue,

As to admire the fragile nature

Of things, so beautiful.

Yours were sown silver,

Delicate white threads that spoke of a time you were hurting,

And in pain,

But survived.

They are signs of your victory,

Trails of the trials put through.

I could see that,

I can feel that.

Those silver hues,

You survived.

They say every cloud has a silver lining, and

Yours were sewn into skin.