Scars.

Scars are interesting things. Each and every one tells a unique story about a fascinating individual. The first scar I ever got, I do not remember. But the story goes that I was sitting in a rocking chair backwards, I rocked to far and the rocking chair fell, I hit my head on the edge of a table and bit all the way through my lip. The faint white line underneath my bottom lip tells the story.
Or the one that happened a few Easters ago. I was outside searching for eggs from the "Easter bunny" with the rest of my siblings. We were re-doing my fathers house at the time, and there were boards laying out in a part of the yard. I got my foot wedged inbetween two of them and I tripped, rolling on top of two rusty nails in the process. I have two disgusting scars on my leg to show for that one.
But what about the scars you can't see with the naked eye? The ones on the inside?

I used to think people cared.
Then I realized I was wrong.