When we met, she worried about the scars. Asked that I close my eyes forever if I wanted to love her for just as long . . . deep beautiful scars that pierced through her like a falsetto. White lines that resembled rivers across the sky—contrails. Years of anguish broke the surface of her skin. When I arrived, I thought I could heal them . . . I thought I was the one to mend, be a salve. The scars are now on me. Now it’s her turn to close her eyes forever . . . give me a shot at this thing called love.