Is it selfish of me to mourn my skin? Having seen the patients around me with no surface left to theirs, how can I still mourn a flesh Ive always taken for granted? Now I kiss the places the fire kissed me in hopes of aiding in the healing. But how hard the healing has been. Those first three hours in the emergency room when I swore that I could still feel the fire, as white coat blurs of faces peeled my layers. I cried out for each screaming cell. My eyes swelled shut to spare my weak mind. Skin, I would no longer want to look at. Skin, I spent hours tanning and pampering. Skin, I planned on wearing with confidence. Shorts and swimsuits, summertime smiles. I wouldn't know for some time what I lost when I was burned. I'm still learning to love what I have gained. Strength, slowly strung itself about me, day by day I dreaded the coming day less and less. I managed as we all do. I managed to scrub my own skin raw just like the doctors. I managed half smiles and choked laughter. I managed positive thoughts and dreams of recovery on the horizon. It looked so far yet so beautiful, so enticing. It is nearer now, close enough to feel the glow. Yet, it comes not without struggles of its own. See, I must remember to love myself. When the last of my strength seeps out with my tears. I must remember to be grateful. For my body's determination to heal has only sprouted from the days warped with dread and pain, I have grown. I may not like what I see but I needed to love my insides more anyways. This charred skin is a lesson I should wear without shame. It is only a tribute to my strength. It is only a picture of my resilience.