The Miles Between
A year ago, somebody nearly took my life. Yesterday, I was riding my motorcycle to work, bitching about the cold, and going about my day. I didn't even remember what day it was until somebody pointed at the tattoo on my arm.
The List
Almost a year after the motorcycle crash, I showed Dawna the list of everything that had been broken, torn, punctured, crushed, or otherwise fucked up that night. I expected her to understand what I survived. I wasn't expecting the fucking list to remind me how much of it I'm still carrying.