Recovery is not linear, my head reminds my body

by MB

But my reflection greets me with twinges of sadness, of a girl whose body could not hide the secrets she yearned to bury.

I miss my angles - their sharpness. Sexy bones, he calls them, hands gripping hipbones, fingers violent, possessive over forbidden flesh - territory and emotion he was never authorized to enter. Wrapped around this thing (these emotions, the reality of her flesh, her overwhelming presence) he now controls.