It happened again.
I was getting dressed one morning when I noticed another dark purple mark on my forearm.
I stopped and stared at it.
"Where did THAT come from?"
I honestly couldn't remember.
Maybe I'd bumped the kitchen counter.
Maybe I'd carried a grocery bag against my arm.
Maybe I'd knocked into the bedroom door without thinking about it.
Or maybe it had simply appeared like so many others seemed to.
That was becoming the frustrating part.
Years ago, I could bump into something and forget about it five minutes later.
Now it felt like my skin remembered everything.
And displayed it for everyone to see.