itswaypastcarriesbedtime:Bodies are odd. How they bend, how they fold. How they wrinkle and wither t
itswaypastcarriesbedtime:Bodies are odd. How they bend, how they fold. How they wrinkle and wither the more we get old. Bodies are strange, how they pain, how they ache, with a million bones with potential to break. Bodies are weird, all that skin and all that flesh. And just 8 hours sleep to keep it all fresh. I would stand in the mirror, I would grab and I’d grope. I’d sigh and I’d try not to give up all hope. I’ve wished and I’ve wanted, I’ve gained and I’ve lost. I’ve tried juices and potions, no matter the cost. But what’s it all for? Is there joy to be found, in the cinch of an inch, in the loss of a pound? I am more than my body. I am songs, I am books, I am witty remarks and sardonic looks. While my body is sleeping and I dribble and snore, there are worlds in my head that were meant to explore. I am heartache and passion, I am music and art, magnificently more than the sum of my parts. I’ve learnt now to think of myself as a vessel, simply a nest in which magic can nestle. Carrie Hope Fletcher -- source link