Stains

The fabric of our lives is stitched together by hallmark events. Graduations, first kisses, hospital stays, summer flings. Vital moments we commemoratively frame and hang on the walls of our minds. But what distinguishes the cloth is stains accumulated from phenomena so commonly occurring that we overlook them. Take them for granted.

A montage of yellow and brown on your pillowcase in the shape of tear puddles, a testament of all the nights you cried yourself to sleep over unmet expectations. Kisses on wine stained lips that taste of half-drunk lies. Violet blossoms along your collarbone from the sheer intensity of his attempts to convince himself that this thing leaving both your hearts stained black and blue is actually love.

Don't you mistake it for nothing but a mark of damage. Because as much as it speaks of disgrace, of worse for wear, it also speaks of wonder.

Coffee mug stains on the table at the diner, traced repeatedly over by fingers of young lovers awaiting their parents' arrival. Toothpaste stains on your bathroom sink from when your eyes were too occupied with his smile to notice what your hands were doing. Mattress streaked with stains from your nights in, a reminder of innocence giving way to indulgence. Wide-eyes now clouded with understanding.