I have a scar on my right knee that looks remarkably like a "K."  I've loved it from the beginning.  My sister has teased me over the years for how beat up my knees are - the K has company for sure.  And for the first 18 years of my life (at least) my knees were a certain shade of camo at all times of the year.  For some reason, my little K feels like a promise. Something certain.  Something unchangeable. A secret. At times, an inside joke. A tiny little emblem that can't be erased.  My own personal logo.  I imagine when I'm 80, I'll catch a glimpse of it and smile like the 15 year old who first got it.  I'll remember, I'm still that same girl.  I'll remember to be grateful for creases, scars and stretch marks - I'll remember they're punctuation marks of stories - I'll remember they're emblems, copyrights. They prove I'm the real deal.