Dear March, It's hives again

All I could think of was the scar on her leg.

The fifty odd stitches that curved around her left cap,

or was it the right?

There's another scar that goes from her breast bone to her pelvis,

it's been opened more times then I've had lovers.

Every time she had a child, even the dead one.

Every time she had a piece of her stomach removed.

Pretty much, every time.

Then, there's that scar in the middle of her forehead,

it's just led. From a pencil. Apparently she's really good at tic tac toe, and one time she got stabbed for it.

That's all I could think of.

Well, that and her cheek bones.

And her hair.

And her black iced coffee.

And her wide leg pants.

And her architecture books.

And that other little scar beside her nose.

And her married policeman.

And her favorite cemetery.

And her Salem lights 100's.

And her rare hamburgers.

And the way the snow used to fall on her black trench coat this time of year.

After school/work today I stopped at Hi-Town pizza for a slice of peperoni.

I made myself eat every drop. Even though it wasn't nearly hot enough, and I found myself choking, and the door kept blowing open, and all they had was Royal crown.

I ate the entire thing standing up,

And then the bus met me at the corner.