...I fell. This morning I was running after the bus and just when I was about to hop on it, I fell next to the door. I didn't realise I hurt myself, so I just got up and hoped on the bus...that's when I realised "the situation". My favourite black jeans were ripped and under all the dirt there stood a small wound. My skin was just a little bit plucked and small drops of blood turned my white skin into a beautiful red bruise.
I was nothing bit smiles...I was actually happy. I haven't fell since forever, and soon I'm having my 27th birthday, so I just receive my proof that I am still "growing". What better gift could I have made myself than a bruise in my knee?!
It brought back so many memories of when I always used to have my knees and elbows full of wounds, and was proud of my scars. I remember we even had some sort of a sadistic children's contest on who gets to fall for as many times as possible in the same place, before the old bruise gets healed. Imagine that...my left knee made me proud back then...I had 5 or 6 falls on it and the bruise is still vaguely there...