Beneath it all, despite our differences, we are all the same. Our bones glisten like white gravestones under tender rain. Our flesh withers like a childhood dream caught in the wrinkled fist of reality. In the beginning we are thrust into this world, scarless and unprepared. In the end, scars are our second skin concealing the open fissures in our souls. We shovel mounds of dirt to fill the cracks, to make us whole again. But that same dirt will kiss the coffin we lie within—as we hide rather than heal.
