Your life is a story. The spine is cracked, pages are missing, but no space is left vacant. Each chapter holds every tear, every ****** knee, every night spent alone. They quote the thoughts and conversations you wish you had forgotten, the screams and the hand gestures, every bad name you've called yourself since you were ten, all of it branded to the pages in black ink. You wish you could burn it all like you used to burn your thighs. You don't remember the pages you crumpled up and threw away, the eskimo and butterfly kisses, the summers you spent by his side. You lost your best friend's laugh and the smell of chocolate chip cookies. You closed your eyes to the beauty you always had, the smile that was always yours, the feeling of a pen writing out your story.