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2008-06-05 - 4:52 a.m.

What you remember most is the way her hands moved over your body. The way she would touch a part of you and say "mine."
Her hand on your hip. "Mine"
Her hand on the flat of your stomach. "Mine."
Mine. Not soft, not sweet. Possessive
"Mine."
Marking you.
Her lips on your neck.
Her teeth on your shoulder. Biting. Nipping. Making you bleed.
"Mine."
Not realizing her fingernails are scratching you.
"Mine."
It was that part of her that would wrap you up and smother you. Wrap you up and drown you. And when you came to it was that other part of her that you fell in love with.
The part where, in the middle of the night on that twin bed you two shared and she was asleep, on her stomach, hiding her body you just spent three hours getting to know more intimately than anyone had or has ever known her, hiding that body because it that moment of her claiming you she forgot how awkward she felt, how heavy she thought her body moved through the room, hiding that body that now, in her sleep, knowing you are there, the body that feels large and clumsy but is so damn beautiful you wake up to look at it.
The body with the broad back you spend years, later, dreaming of. The back that stretched forever in soft curves and dips and strong shoulders that carried you.
The body with those hands.
How could one woman be both so possessive of you and so willing to give you up?
How could one woman lay claim to the soft spots of your body and then let you go?
How could one woman haunt you so damn much?

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