she wears sweaters and knit cardigans on hot summer days because they cover up the crimes that her hands have committed.

the things that she can't undo, the sins that they are covered with; sins that took place years ago, covered in a dormant memory that's festered and growing every second, every hour, every day, every year that it goes unacknowledged.

and she bites her nails like she has a secret, one that she's dying to unearth but the consequences are heavy if a single word escapes her lips. but oh, does she have a story to tell.

a story that brings a wealth of shame to her, to her family. a story only heard on crime shows, the sympathetic SVUs and CSIs. but it's her story and it's his, but he's long forgotten.

and the memory never left her.

scarred her, maybe. the words are all at her fingertips, scrawled out on her skin threatening to blow and spew from the ink of her pen but should she allow it -- no.

instead she wears sweaters and knit cardigans on hot summer days to cover the sins of her hands and she wears sundresses to prove that she still has her innocence -- what little there is left.