Scars.

We have matching scars above our eyebrows. Mine is from a cat scratch, I don't know what his is from.
He also has a deep scar on his bottom lip that traces the curve of his pout.
It is so beautiful that i think that the car accident that put it there was almost worth it. I don't think he would agree. But of course, that all happened long before I knew him. His car skidded across some black ice or the snow fell too heavily on his windscreen or a lorry lost control in the sleet. i don’t know the details. When he talks about it, i am too distracted by the scar and how much i want to run my tongue along its jagged edge.

At the same time that the steering wheel was pushing itself through his lip, I was probably sun baking on the other side of the planet. I guess in that way, we are worlds apart.
I have never seen the place he grew up. Never patted his cat or smiled at his niece. I have never witnessed how he talks to his brothers or if he looks his mother in the face when he says goodbye. I don’t know what he looked like as a child or the colour of his school uniform. I don’t even know if he had a school uniform.
He has no context except for right here and right now. The joy I see in his eyes when the sun comes out. His heavy breathing when he talks about his wife. His grin when he teases me. And the way that, that scar curves along his mouth when he frowns. These are the blocks that i build my love on.

I know nothing about him, except for who he is today. His past is hidden behind a plane trip, a decision to leave, a kiss goodbye, jet lag and a failed marriage that sticks to him like tar. All the things that led him to be laying, barely awake, curled around my body this morning, like a crooked question mark.
I have seen his scars and i love him anyway, in spite of them.
No, I have seen his scars and i love him because of them. I guess they match mine.