I heard it said once that every human is a story with skin. If this is true, paragraphs would be etched in the scars on my wrists. Whole chapters could be written about the way my heart pounds when I startle awake. And every single one of my tears could fill a book. But stories, with all their promise, only leave room for disappointment. I don't have room for that anymore. I left it all-the hope, the love, the promise-back in my old life with the...