Bruise.

I have this jaded obsession with pushing bruises. There is something inside of me that enjoys the feeling from gently pressing on a bruise. I've never thought that I was one for pain, but then again when I was in elementary school I used to staple my fingers. I was such an odd child.

This weekend while walking the dog I've been watching, I slipped on a pile of leaves and although I tried to brace my fall I ended up landing directly on my right knee. It was a very graceful fall (all kidding aside) and I was fortunate enough that I didn't rip through my favorite pants. Although I iced my war wound, I was left with a nice multi-colored souvenir; a bruise.

This morning I knelt to pray and hit the exact spot of where I fell, it felt lovely haha nonetheless, while sitting at work I've managed to reach down and push on the bruise multiple times. Perhaps it's the fact that pain helps you realize you're alive, as odd as that may sound.