The smoothness of my skin today covers over the lines of yesteryears, a reminder of where I've come from and where I hope to never return to. I promised you I wouldn't again, and you know how I hold to my promises.
So I promise you now:
When that old urge rises up and my fingers itch for fine tipped pens and silver hairpins, I will come find you. I will let you soften the sharp edges of my turmoil and melt together my broken fragments with your words and your touch and your kisses. I promise to not hide under downy bedding or fancy words or my inability to trust and believe. I promise to talk because I know you will listen. I promise to seek some form of salvation from a twisted past that spans generations. I promise to try.
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