Decidedly burned bridges

A few mornings ago I rushed the French press. Scalding coffee spewed over my forehead. I am lucky my eyelids were not blistered. It's embarrassing being the woman who has facial burns.

If you see me and notice a few nicks, I have been through an ordeal or two this year.
I walked away again yesterday from the man I love. I listened as he drove off, leaving me stranded yet again.

You see, I am lucky.

Restful bones will be on the woman.
My heart is not tattered nor am I battered. Worn thin by capitulation, I find that tumult may come, and notice that despite me the dawn breaks over the ridge and pulls the warming mist in eddies.