Her eyes, glistening with a mixture of sweat and tears, were almond in shape, turquoise in color, and shadowed with pain; her lips, a thin line of rose, were pursed in agony. She gently rubbed the dirt and rancor away from my suede clothing and polished my ivory buttons. Through her paper thin blouse I saw tiny whip like scars pepper her lower back, I then noticed the silver scars snaking up her for arms, winding in and out of each other like rivers cutting through a desert. Her face streaked with tears, she began to unfold her delicately woven tale of pain and despair. I contended myself to listening to her emotional reminiscing.
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