I drew a quick breath and broke the stillness of the lake, diving deeper watching the light bend through the glistening surface. Bubbles formed as I forced my hands through the water one stroke at a time. I could see him holding himself against the dock, waiting for me to reach him, kicking his feet just enough to keep his head above water. He couldn’t see me watching his every movement as I swam beneath the water toward him. His muscles tensed and relaxed as he floated there, waiting, looking for bubbles at the surface where I might come up but I held my breath and drew closer trying to stay in that quiet vulnerable moment for as long as I could without feeling my lungs scream for air.

His scar is a constant reminder of the nearness of death. It curves around the shape of his shoulder, daring, scaring and beautiful. The feel of its raised edges brings me closer to everything that he is, but he has never spoken a word about it. I have the feeling he never will. It reminds me of what could have been, what might be and that a simple scar in the wrong place at the wrong time could have taken him from me. Scars hold so many stories, memories and moments of a fleeting life. Scars are seen as beautiful, ugly, terrifying and inspiring. Scars show that we have not only lived but have survived. It’s a reminder of how delicate we are, protected by skin so fragile it can break and tear and never heal the same. It’s a reminder of how delicate he is. Despite his openness, there is mystery in all that I might never know. It’s out here under the sun surrounded by water that his stress is washed away. It’s out here that I get to see him without the façade he puts on for everyone else. For a moment, here, he is free.

I was close enough now for him to see me so I rose up breaking the surface, out of the cold into the light, watching his grin turn into a smile. He reached out and grabbed my arms pulling me toward him softly...