Reclaiming the Temple

Dear Delyara, I used to scrub my skin until it was red, trying to wash away the memory of where you touched me. I felt like I was "used goods." But tonight, I’m lighting a candle and looking at my hands. These hands have created art, they have helped friends, they have survived. My skin is not a map of what you did; it is a map of where I’ve been. I am clean. I am whole.