He said she’d changed him, reformed his spine. Snapped each vertebrae to suit herself and left him hunched over what remained of his heart.   The next came with healing hand, or so she thought when she tried to gouge out the broken and cover the cracks with masking tape and flesh tone plasters.   The last stamped, kicked and flew in. Tested the breaks, how much she could ask, what he would give, never demanded scars be explained.   “We all are damaged,” she said, “We all bear marks. What counts is the follow up, if you’re one to fall or build something stronger with another.”