If I'm swelling with mosquito bites and red ant stings, it's okay. I'll take raw patches of sunburnt skin - that's fine. I don't mind black under-eye bags hinting at sleepless nights, or puffy rims from tears that leak.
Those itchy bumps on my arms, legs, and neck? They are proof of my living. The salt water trickling down my cheeks, off my nose? They show that I am feeling. You may be safe, content, clean, and free of pain, but I want to be loving, hurting, breathing, sobbing, laughing, roaming, connecting, and learning. It is better to know emotion than to be without it.
I know how to exist. Existing is bedroom confinement; a phone with no callers; unblemished pale skin; an empty stomach; nothing to say or express. I have merely existed for too long. Living is being mad, sad, happy, and confused; being with friends, upset with friends, and in love with friends; hugging, touching, and even hitting.
Bug bites, scratches, a broken heart, confused thoughts - I'm not complaining. I want to come out of my comfort zone.