I do so love bruises. There is a bruise, welling deep purple beneath the translucent skin, between two fingers on my hand. A souvenir of fully-administered blow.
After a summer I spent traveling through Europe, I had a fist-sized bruises running the length of my outer thigh from the suitcase I dragged after me. Souvenirs that slowly mottled and faded.
I want to sink my teeth into flesh and leave the imprint there for days. The ache of it a memento.
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