Bodies count, of course — they count more than we’re willing to admit — but we don’t fall in love with bodies, we fall in love with each other. We all know that, but the moment we go beyond a catalogue of surface qualities and appearances, words begin to fail us, to crumble apart in mystical confusions and cloudy, unsubstantial metaphors.
When the Japanese mend broken objects they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold, because they believe that when something’s suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Back in the day, they said I was beautiful. I ignored all fools; for I felt like a hollow nutcase anyway. Even if it was true, it did not work. You know what I mean. I was on the edge. I still am.
There is a unique rightness and beauty to life which can be shared in openness, in wind and sunlight, with a fellow human being who believes in the same principles.
My name is Gabrielle and I am twenty-eight years old. I began to self-injure at age fifteen -- so nearly thirteen years minus a two year period. This website is one about self-injury (self-harm), made to let self-injurers know that they are not alone and to help their friends and family learn more about self-injury and how it affects their loved one.
Add a comment?