Each scar was a memory made visible. Pain preserved.
She touched it gently with her opposite thumb. “What do you call this one?”
I never saw her again.
“Do it again,” she whispered.
I thought for a second. “Leaving.”
Each scar was a memory made visible. Pain preserved.
She touched it gently with her opposite thumb. “What do you call this one?”
I never saw her again.
“Do it again,” she whispered.
I thought for a second. “Leaving.”