“If all that we are is too many scars, can we stack them until we touch?”
I’m not sure if I want to touch your pain or make you hurt. I’m also not sure if there is a difference, but the scars you have painted me with are stacking. Stacking in a way that they seem to be reaching out to you begging for your touch. I know this haunts and comforts you at once and in this moment I realize I can still take a punch.