I fumble through the kitchen searching for the button that turns on the light under the microwave. The one that doesn’t shock the darkness out of me. The house is still and quiet.

Start the coffee. Open the laptop. Light the candle that smells of evergreens.

Insecurities are a bitch. It’s just one of those things that comes with life—something that each of us have for different reasons. For her, her arms were the one place on her body where she felt the most vulnerable. It was the one place on her body where she felt the most exposed, so she did her best to keep them hidden.