The other man whom I didn't notice at first had a three-lined scar centred on his chest. I imagined the doctor cutting through below the rib cage and then snapping through the sternum. Explains why he was swimming slowly I guess. Perhaps recovering post-op.
Whatever that brought us to where we are, are we letting it have a stranglehold? A baggage that's familiarly heavy? A wound that we keep picking?
Maybe someone else is looking at you and wondering how you came to be. Maybe the scars or limitations aren't obvious... Are we living like they're there?
Live strong, I say.