I tossed and turned between the sheets, the deep slash on my wrist stinging. I had just torn it open again with a pin and my tweezers.
I lay in the dark, trying to find way to keep the wound from touching the sheets. It felt like being rubbed with broken glass on my tender wrist.
Words floated through my tired mind.
I wish I'd never done this.
And a little surprisingly:
This is the price of beauty.
