She has scars on her body that remind me of railroad tracks.

I used to dream about crossing the country on a train, as if Montana had forests cold enough to hide my hot temper. I didn’t know running away from one’s problems didn’t mean they were solved. Problems follow like bloodhounds. They know your scent. They’ll make you bleed whether you live in Utah, New York, or Wyoming. I learned I can’t wrap myself up in county lines and expect them not to tangle.

I wish I could be that razor so that every time you reached for me I would soften my edges and kiss, not cut you. I wish I could be that razor so I could carve our names into a tree to show you my love for you will never stop growing. I promise to always run after you like Sequoia trees chase after the sun.

Our scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They are the trophies we receive when we triumph over ourselves. Don’t let yourself lose. If your heart ever runs off the rails I’ll be waiting at the crash site with band-aids and my bruised heart, telling you “you are more than your train wrecks.” Nobody really gets out of this life unscathed. I wear my bruises like badges of honor.